


The Way We Wind

by bluefay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A cat named Stockinette, Anal Sex, Artist Harry Potter, Because consent is important!!!!, Bisexual Harry Potter, Black Harry Potter, Black Hermione Granger, Blow Jobs, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Christmas Shopping, Consent, Coping, Crafts, Cuddling & Snuggling, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Draco helps Narcissa arrange flowers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Gay Draco Malfoy, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Harry Potter has a pet cat, Harry owns a knitting shop, Height Differences, Hot Chocolate, Ice Skating, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knitting, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reunions, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Snow, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, White Christmas, odd jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 46,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefay/pseuds/bluefay
Summary: After the war, Harry’s life falls to shambles. Each day revolves around an intense battle with his mental health, and there’s nothing that Ron or Hermione can do to help him.That is, until Hermione teaches Harry how to knit.Fast forward five years, and Harry is the proud owner of a renowned knitting shop in Diagon Alley, The Whomping Willow Woolery. Christmas season is upon him, and the shop is busier than ever. So, is it really a surprise that Draco Malfoy wanders in looking for a gift for his mother?Cue awkward meetings, fluffy knitting lessons, a truly horrible scarf, a cat named Stockinette who is readily obsessed with Draco, and falling in love with one’s worst enemy.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 315
Kudos: 713





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_knitting_hufflepuff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_knitting_hufflepuff/gifts).



> Firstly, there are some thank you's due!
> 
> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, Emily, for your amazing hype on my google docs! Thank you to Peachpety and Veelawings for your lovely encouragement whenever I realized that I had to write nearly 50k in two months. Thank you to Maesterchill, EvAEleanor, and Tackytiger for your help with a smidge of Irish!! 
> 
> And lastly, thank you to my wife, Emma - this is a gift for you. I'm so thankful that I get to spend everyday watching you work on knitting (and crochet) projects that, just like Harry, continuously help you to heal from your childhood trauma. Thank you for helping me with all of the knitting terms, descriptions, and being my loyal creative director. This story is as much a piece of you as it is of me, and I love you with all my heart. 
> 
> Now, for all of you reading this! TWWW will be going up every other day, and posting should end just a few days before Christmas. I hope you all enjoy this little bundle of fluff, and thank you for reading <3
> 
> NOTE: The Way We Wind now has a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6A7OJM3eHMaX8ebmBMbp40) thanks to armanikenma!

Harry hadn’t expected to feel so shitty after the war.

In many ways, he wished he couldn’t pin-point the exact moment in which everything had changed, all light in his life dissolving into darkness. Perhaps it would have been easier knowing that things hadn’t become so completely different the moment he walked through the threshold of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place on the 3rd of May. The house had been stuffy and humid, and there was a thin layer of dust on every surface. Kreacher had begrudgingly welcomed Harry home, showing him up to Sirius’ old room. Harry had tried to settle into the house ― he really had ― but the feeling of ease never came.

Then, there was the constant guilt nesting in Harry’s chest. It had been him that Voldemort was after at the Battle of Hogwarts. So many lives had been lost that night, and for nothing. In the darkest moments of everyday, Harry found himself wishing that it had been him who had died that fateful night ― not Fred, or Remus, or Tonks, or Colin Creevey, or the countless others who had sacrificed themselves for the sake of Harry’s life.

Hermione called it survivor’s guilt. Harry called it life.

Days eventually turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into a little over a year and a half of pure, unadulterated torment. Before Harry knew it, he’d turned nineteen, time slipping through his fingers in a blur. He was absolutely miserable; he hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in Merlin knows how long due to the painstakingly cruel nightmares that visited him every time he went to bed, he looked sickeningly thin from his lack of appetite, and he rarely felt any motivation to leave the house.

The only thing that kept Harry going was the frequent visits from Ron and Hermione. They would floo to Grimmauld Place at least five times a week, checking in on Harry and bringing him rich, warm food that Molly had made. They kept him updated on the world outside, which had seemingly moved on without him, and this often led to Hermione prompting a conversation about Harry’s mental health. Harry would reassure her that he was fine, and she would reassure him that was most certainly not.

However, in the rare moments of clarity that Harry experienced, he could tell that he was slowly slipping away. While it was obvious that both Ron and Hermione had escaped the war with some bruising, they seemed to be coping alright, especially after having moved in together after a few months of dating. Hermione constantly praised Ron for his ability to calm her down after a particularly nasty dream, and Harry knew that Hermione had a knack for telling when Ron was reliving one of the various ways he had narrowly escaped fatal harm. However, they were both able to function, carrying on with what Harry considered to be as normal a life as possible. While Hermione held a lower position in the Muggle Liaison Office, Ron had begun his training as an Auror. Harry, having done nothing with his life, felt both empty and insignificant, wanting nothing more than to feel alright again.

He didn’t even have a significant other to confide in. He and Ginny hadn’t lasted long after the war had ended, both deciding that they worked better as friends. A few months after their breakup, news had traveled that Ginny and Luna had begun dating. Now, a year and a half later, they were still together. And Harry was happy for them ― he was ― however, although he was no longer romantically interested in Ginny, he couldn’t help but think about the fact that he could’ve been her love in another life. One where he was attracted to her, and she was attracted to him.

As the blistering summer of 1999 vanished into crisp autumn, Harry’s health took a turn for the worse. His days were filled with fits of crying, vomiting, and convulsions as he lived through memories that he didn’t particularly care to remember. He no longer knew what day it was, never mind what month, and he would occasionally find himself in places of the house that he couldn’t recall walking to. His nights weren’t any better, as sleep rarely came to him, and he more often than not spent the quiet hours before dawn sitting numbly in front of the telly that he had purchased the year before.

Ron and Hermione were both alarmed at the rate of Harry’s decline, upping their visits to everyday after work and training. Hermione was the only one who could coax him out of bed, whispering soft words of encouragement as she would help him down the stairs and into the living room. Then, they would spend hours sitting there, Ron and Hermione filling the air with anything they thought would cheer Harry up.

It was on a cold, early December afternoon that everything changed.

Harry had been sleeping when Ron and Hermione had let themselves into the house. He had cracked his eyes open as Walburga’s portrait screamed profanities, warning him that his friends had arrived. After a second or two, her shrieking came to a halt, and Harry knew that Hermione had cast a Silencing Charm.

He rolled over, his body stiff from lack of movement, and watched as pale sunlight streamed through the window above his bed, catching on particles of dust floating through the air. He tensed, waiting to hear the sound of Hermione’s footsteps coming up the stairs. After a moment, the sound of the bottom step creaking echoed across the house, and Harry groaned, closing his eyes, hoping that he might convince Hermione that he was asleep.

No such luck.

Once Hermione had opened the door to Harry’s room, she didn’t waste any time. Sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, she gently pushed Harry’s black waves off of his forehead.

“I know you’re awake, Harry. Really, you’re a _terrible_ actor. Can you open your eyes for me?” she asked.

Silently cursing her, Harry blinked his eyes open. He hated to admit it, but the sight of Hermione immediately made him feel a little warmer. As usual, she was still in her work robes, and her corkscrew curls were pulled away from her face, sitting in a knot on top of her head.

She smiled softly at him, moving her hand to rest on Harry’s shoulder. “Ron’s heating up dinner. Molly made chicken soup tonight. Figured it’d be easy on your body.”

Harry nodded.

“I’ve also brought you something that might cheer you up, but you’ve got to go into the living room to see it,” Hermione said.

“Can’t you just bring whatever it is up here?” Harry asked.

“Afraid not. Now, I know for a fact that you haven’t changed your pajamas in four days. How about we get you into a fresh pair?” Hermione asked.

Harry made a face. “Do I have to?”

Hermione sighed. “It’ll take two seconds, Harry. I’ll give you a quick _Scourgify_ after.”

After a moment of contemplation, Harry relented. “Alright. Fine.”

Slowly, he began to sit up, his weak muscles aching in protest. Hermione scooted off the bed, and he watched her wrinkle her nose at the smell as she peeled the blanket off of his body. He knew he needed to shower; his hair was greasy, clinging to his forehead, and he could feel a fine layer of grime covering his skin. Unfortunately, he was too worn out to be embarrassed.

After Hermione helped him up, she escorted him to the bathroom down the hall, waiting outside while Harry relieved his bladder. Once he was done, they walked back to Sirius’ bedroom, where Harry perched on the edge of the bed and Hermione dug around in a chest drawer for a clean pair of pajamas. Eventually, she pulled out a worn Chudley Cannons t-shirt and fleece pants that had a printed Snitch pattern on them. While Hermione turned around, giving him some privacy, Harry deftly removed his pajamas and exchanged them for the new ones, the feeling of clean fabric foreign against his skin.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said.

Hermione turned back around, smiling softly at him. “Good job. Now, one second. I’m just going to _Scourgify_ you.”

As Hermione raised her wand, Harry felt a cool sensation roll over his body. He ran his fingers through his hair, which wasn’t nearly as greasy as it had been before, and he let out a heavy sigh.

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

“Of course. Come on,” she said, looping her arm through his, “let’s get you downstairs. Ron’s dying to tell you how his training went today.”

They moved at a steady pace, eventually making their way down the grand staircase. Turning left, they headed into the dining room. Ron had taken a seat in one of the ornately carved chairs, and his face lit up as soon as he saw the two of them walk into the room. Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

On the table were three healthy bowls of soup, steam curling off the surface. Before the war, Molly’s chicken soup had been one of his favorite meals. Now, the sight and smell of it only made him nauseated.

“Hey, Harry! How’s it going, mate?” Ron asked as Harry took a seat next to him.

“Alright. How are things?” he asked.

Ron let out a long sigh. “Oh, fantastic. Training was great today. All of us shadowed an Auror for five hours as they worked on their cases, and it was bloody amazing. My Auror, Claire Parkins, she’s been working on trying to catch a dragon egg smuggler. I got to watch as she planned out a sting that’s taking place on Tuesday. Merlin, it was such a rush.”

Harry nodded stiffly. He wanted to be happy for Ron, but he couldn’t find it in himself to do it. Truthfully, he had no interest in hearing about how well things were going for either of them, as all it did was make it blatantly clear that his life was going absolutely nowhere. However, as much as he wanted to yell at them to stop, he resisted, clenching his jaw shut.

“Ronald, you sound like a child in a toyshop,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “So, Harry, how about we have some dinner?”

“I’m not really that hungry,” he said, grimacing at the soup in front of him.

“Can you try? For me?” Hermione asked softly.

With a sigh, Harry nodded. “I’ll try.”

As the three of them ate dinner, both Ron and Hermione finishing their bowls while Harry’s remained two-thirds full, Hermione cleared her throat.

“So, Harry, remember how I told you I have a surprise?”

“Sure,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m going to go get it. Be right back,” Hermione said, standing up and walking out of the dining room.

Harry looked to Ron. “Do you have any idea what it is?”

Ron nodded. “Listen, mate, it’s going to seem barmy at first. Give a listen to Hermione, though. She might be onto something.”

As Harry frowned, not at all reassured by Ron’s words, Hermione walked back into the room carrying a plastic bag. Resuming her seat next to Harry, she began to pull the contents out of the bag and set them on the table. Harry raised an eyebrow.

There, in front of him, was a ball of soft green yarn and two wooden sticks.

“What the hell, Hermione?” Harry asked, turning to her.

Hermione sighed. “Alright. Let me explain. I’ve been doing research on alternative methods for helping mental health, and I came across a book all about knitting and other fiber arts. Apparently a lot of people find knitting to be therapeutic, Harry. Think about it ― knitting would give you something to do with your hands, and it would be a way for you to be productive without having to strain yourself. Plus, finishing projects might give you some sense of accomplishment.”

“This is absolutely mad, Hermione. _Knitting_?” Harry asked in disbelief.

“I know how it sounds. I _know_. Please, just let me teach you how to do it. Then, after a few goes, you can decide whether you like it or not. If you hate it, I won’t push you.”

Harry looked to Ron for help, but all he did was shrug.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

“Oh, fantastic! Alright, are you up for me to teach you right now?” Hermione asked, a wide smile spreading across her face.

“Sure.”

“Okay, let’s start with the basics. This,” she said, gesturing to the ball of yarn, “is called a skein of yarn, or simply a skein for short. Skeins tend to get tangled if you don’t wind them into a ball before knitting. However, because this particular brand of yarn came from a craft shop and is on the cheaper end, it’s come prewound. If you were to get, say, a £25 skein of yarn from an established fiber arts shop, you would either need to ask someone at the shop to wind it for you, or you would need to wind it by hand ― which I would not recommend, by the way. Now, yarn comes in a variety of different sizes, textures, and what we call weights. This particular yarn is worsted, which is a medium weight, and it’s made out of wool. Go ahead, pick it up. Tell me how it feels.”

Hesitantly, Harry picked up the skein of yarn. The fiber was soft and thick, albeit a bit itchy.

“See how it’s soft, but it’s still a little scratchy? That’s a characteristic of wool. There’s a few different fibers that people knit with. For example, mohair is a type of fiber that comes from an Angora goat, and it’s known for being exceptionally plush. People often integrate mohair with whatever wool they’re using to make it softer. Then there’s alpaca, silk, and cotton. Does everything make sense so far?” Hermione asked.

Harry nodded, setting down the wool. “I think so.”

“Great. Now these,” Hermione said, picking up the two wooden sticks, “are called knitting needles. I’m sure you’ve seen Molly use them before. Knitting needles also come in different sizes, which are measured in millimeters. The needles are what you knit with, so don’t lose them.”

“So … how does knitting work, exactly? Like, how do I do it?” Harry asked, trying to imagine how one would get the yarn _onto_ the needles.

Hermione picked up the skein of yarn and slipped the label off of it. “Well, since you’re making a scarf, I’m going to start you off with a simple cast on. Casting on is the type of stitch that you make in order to get the yarn onto the needles. There are dozens of different cast ons, but we won’t worry about those now. We’re going to begin by making a slipknot. So, take the tail of the yarn and hold it …”

Harry spent the next six hours listening to Hermione as she taught him how to knit, starting with the cast on and ending with how to make a simple knit stitch. The night was pitch black by the time Ron and Hermione left.

Knitting had been far more difficult than Harry had expected. In fact, he was tempted to quit altogether. After placing the dishes in the sink and casting a _Scourgify_ on them, he wandered back through the dining room. Just as he was about to head upstairs, he turned, staring at his knitting on the table.

He sighed. “Fuck it.”

Walking back over to the table, he grabbed his project before heading up to bed.


	2. Five Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for any of you who don't know, Stockinette's name comes from one of the most basic stitches in knitting - the stockinette stitch! Also, thank you all so much for the comments, kudos, and subscriptions I've received so far. It means the world to me ❤
> 
> Next chapter goes up on Tuesday, Nov. 24th

Harry blinked, his eyes adjusting to the pale, early morning light streaming in through the crack in the white cotton curtains. He rolled to the other side of the bed, stretching to grab his wand from the nightstand and lazily casting _Tempus_. Small blue numbers appeared in the air, reading 7:05. With a great sigh, Harry flopped onto his back.

As he contemplated the horrid concept of moving from his warm, luscious bed, he heard a small pitter coming from the direction of the hallway. Smiling, he clicked his tongue.

“Stockinette!” Harry hollered.

Not a second later, a sleek grey cat leapt onto the bed, her soft blue eyes staring intently at him. He watched as she looked around the bed, trying to decide where to settle. Eventually, she crept onto Harry’s pillow, curling herself around the crown of his head.

“Really?” he asked, rolling his eyes.

Stockinette purred in response.

After thirty more minutes of lounging in bed, Harry knew he needed to get up. Carefully, he detached himself from Stockinette, who flopped sideways as soon as the support of Harry’s head was no longer underneath her. As she let out a high-pitched chirp of surprise, Harry grinned sheepishly at her.

“Sorry, Stocky. How about I make it up to you with some breakfast?” he asked, wincing as his bare feet touched the bitter coldness of the hardwood floor.

Stockinette cocked her head before silently agreeing that breakfast would do, promptly jumping off the bed and heading in the direction of the kitchen.

After Harry relieved himself and pulled on a Weird Sisters hoodie that Hermione had given him years ago, he padded down the hallway and into the living room and kitchen area, which was only separated by a narrow granite island. He peered out of the window that sat to the left of his navy blue couch, watching shadow colored clouds drift across the sky. The light spilling into his flat was dark and dull, and Harry guessed that there would be a heavy downpour in the afternoon. Normally, he found dreary weather to be quite disagreeable, much preferring the soft, warm breezes of spring to the harshness of winter. However, since opening his shop, he’d learned that stormy weather meant people seeking shelter, and people seeking shelter meant more customers.

Stockinette nudged Harry’s calf with her head, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down at her, grinning, and gave her a quick scratch behind the ear.

“Alright, alright. Let’s get you some food, shall we?” Harry asked, wandering into the kitchen.

Stockinette followed, hopping onto the counter.

After pouring a moderate amount of kibble into Stockinette’s food bowl and setting it on the ground, Harry went about making his own breakfast. While waiting for his coffee to percolate, he quickly whipped up an omelette stuffed with bell peppers and shredded cheese. Once his cup of coffee had been made, four teaspoons of sugar and a generous amount of milk, he took a seat at the round kitchen table.

He ate breakfast in silence, his thoughts turning to the date that was indicated on the calendar hanging on the wall. _The 1st of December, 2004_. Exactly five years ago, Harry had picked up a pair of knitting needles for the first time. In fact, he still had the light green scarf he’d made, although he now knew that it had been dreadfully done. Stitches had been dropped everywhere, and his tension had been tighter than he’d realized. It had only ended up being six inches in length, not even enough to wrap entirely around his neck, but it served as a good reminder for all the progress that he’d made. While he still had his days, existing was not nearly as painful as it had been right after the war. With distance, time, and daily potions for anxiety and depression, he was not only living, but he was thriving.

In all honesty, he knew knitting was to be mostly credited for his recovery. If Hermione hadn’t brought that cheap skein of yarn over that fateful night, he never would have learned how to move on from the war. It was as though each stitch had healed him in some way, scabbing over wounds that had been open for years one project at a time.

Now, he was doing better than he had ever dreamed of; he not only owned his own yarn shop in Diagon Alley, but he also lived in a flat directly above it. In the year since he had opened the Whomping Willow Woolery, he had been more content than he could ever remember.

Once the clock on the kitchen wall struck 7:45, Harry placed his dishes in the sink before wandering back to his bedroom. There, he exchanged his pajamas for a maroon cable jumper with flecks of cream and eggplant in the wool ― handmade, of course ― and well-fitted jeans. Once dressed, he headed to the bathroom, taking a good look at himself in the mirror.

The scar that cracked across his forehead, raised white lines that stood out against his golden brown skin and ran from his right temple to his left cheekbone, had faded drastically since the defeat of Voldemort. The jagged cuts no longer looked angry, but instead as though they were finally beginning to soften into the background. And while Harry wasn’t ashamed of his scar ― he couldn’t possibly forget all that it meant ― he had found that keeping his black curls slightly longer, his fringe grazing just above his eyebrows, helped to diminish unwanted stares from strangers. Plus, a Disillusionment Charm on his scar never hurt.

An abruptive knock on his front door startled Harry, causing him to jump. He recognized the knock immediately as Hermione’s, and he smiled to himself as he wandered back down the hallway. Every Saturday, Hermione and Ron came by the shop to help out with sales and spend time with Harry. As Hermione was now head of the Muggle Liaison Department and Ron was a full-time Auror, it was one of the few times during the week where all three of them were able to carve out time in their busy schedules. Saturdays had, not surprisingly, quickly become Harry’s favorite day of the week.

Stockinette followed him to the door, her paws pitter-pattering across the wood. Harry unlocked the door and was met with a grinning Hermione and a half-asleep Ron.

“Morning,” Harry said, gesturing for them to come in. “I just need to grab a few things, and then I’ll be ready.”

“No worries, Harry,” Hermione said, crouching down in the doorway as Stockinette wandered over to her.

Harry wandered back to his bedroom, quickly grabbing the satchel sitting on top of his dresser before stuffing it with his wallet, keys, project bag filled with a pair of half-knitted gloves, and a small, mosaic brown and beige shawl in case the radiator in the shop decided to stop working for the thousandth time that winter. Once double-checking that he had everything, he headed towards the front door and was met with an incredibly familiar sight ― Ron and Hermione were taking turns giving Stockinette heaps of affection as they sat on the floor, their laughs echoing off of the thin walls of the flat.

“You two absolutely spoil her,” Harry said, grinning as he slung the satchel over his shoulder and pushed up his round glasses.

“Listen, mate,” Ron said, scooting closer to Stockinette. “It’s not our fault you have a great cat.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Ronald, you just like any cat that isn’t Crookshanks.”

Ron shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

“Alright, you three, up,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “Come on. Time to open up shop.”

Once Ron and Hermione had stood up, wiping as much silver fur off of their jumpers and jeans as possible, Harry swiftly picked up Stockinette and opened the front door. After locking up, the four of them headed down the narrow staircase that led down to the shop’s backroom.

When Harry had learned that there had been a building for sale in Diagon Alley that included both a storefront and a flat above, he thought it had been nearly too good to be true. Looking back, it had been the best purchase of his life, especially since he spent practically all of his time at the shop. Somehow, he had managed to luck into living in the very place that made him the happiest, something he swore would never be taken for granted.

As they entered the back of the shop, a sharp chill ran through Harry’s lean body, and after setting Stockinette down and flicking on the lights, he immediately turned on the radiator and cast a Warming Charm.

After everything had been turned on and Hermione had raised the shades in the front windows, the three of them went about quickly organizing the large cubby holes lining four of the six walls forming the shop’s hexagon shape, all of them filled to the brim with various types of yarns. On the fifth wall sat racks upon racks of knitting needles and crochet hooks, as well as cords, felting needles, and cloth project bags. Around the shop, sample knits of scarves, shawls, jumpers, and hats were levitating on display, as well as several yarn winders magically spinning on their own. Towards the back, where the check-out counter sat, were a few bookcases pushed against the sixth wall, fiber arts magazines and pattern books written by renowned crafters neatly lining them.

Looking around, Harry couldn’t help but feel a swell of joy in his heart at all of the bright colors filling the shop. Often, as he was closing up shop, he would spend an hour or so simply taking in all of his yarn stock, organized by brand, weight, and color. His favorite section to stare at was the fingering yarn by a small, indie dyer company called _Alohomora_ , their rich, earthy tones and soft wool incredibly pleasing to look at and feel.

The cuckoo clock shoved into the back left corner of the store began to chime obnoxiously, disrupting Harry’s train of thoughts. He looked towards it, realizing that it was already nine o’clock.

After unlocking the front door and turning the closed sign to open, he wandered back to where Ron and Hermione were perched on stools behind the check-out counter. Once he had taken to his own stool, he pulled his project bag out of his satchel, seeing that Hermione had done the same.

“What’re you working on?” Harry asked, glancing over at her.

Hermione lifted up a deep purple hat. “Ron’s Christmas present. I made him promise he’d pretend to be surprised.”

Ron snorted, shifting towards Hermione. “Merlin, at the rate you, Mum, and Harry are working, my wardrobe is going to be entirely made up of knitwear by the end of the year.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “And yet I don’t see you complaining about it.”

“Well …” Ron said, rosiness blooming across his freckled cheeks.

Before Harry could tease him further, the first customer of the day walked in.

☙☙☙

Harry had been right in his prediction of rain. By the time midday rolled around, deep claps of thunder were echoing across the dark sky, and an occasional flash of white light illuminated the heavy waves of raindrops crashing to the ground.

The store was packed with witches and wizards alike, many of them beginning their Christmas shopping and others simply looking for themselves. Harry and Hermione were slammed with helping customers pick out yarn, making needle recommendations, and pointing them to the pattern book that would fill their every need, while Ron manned the check-out counter along with Stockinette, who was curled into a lazy half-crescent.

Just as Harry thought he’d caught a break, one of his regular customers, an older witch by the name of Mrs. Van Ness, insisted that she needed help in picking out wool that would be suitable for a baby blanket.

“Right. Well, I’d go with an acrylic blend so that the blanket can be washed. There’s only so much a _Scourgify_ can do,” Harry said. “I take it you’re looking to use worsted yarn?”

Mrs. Van Ness smiled. “Yes, and I’m looking for the yarn to be light green in color. My granddaughter just announced that she’s pregnant, and Merlin knows that I won’t get the blanket done unless I start now.”

Harry chuckled. “I understand. Well ―”

His sentence was interrupted by the sight of a distant, yet familiar face peering in through the front windows before walking in, the small bell above the door chiming, and everything seemed to fall away.

There stood Draco Malfoy, several years older and looking like a cat caught in the rain. His hair, ashy blond, was longer than it had been when Harry had seen him at his trial a month after the war had ended, falling in gentle waves to the tips of his ears. He wasn’t as skeletal either, the hollows in his cheeks and under his eyes having been filled nicely.

Draco seemed lost, glancing around the shop with wide eyes. Harry frowned, wondering why the hell he would be there. In the year that he had owned the shop, he had frantically worked to keep his name unassociated with the popularity of the shop, so unless Draco had an excellent connection, it seemed as though he had stumbled there by happenstance.

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry blinked, turning back to Mrs. Van Ness, whose eyes were flickering between him and Draco.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Van Ness, but I need to go check on something. I promise I’ll be back. Meanwhile, feel free to take a look at Noor Safar’s new book of baby patterns. It’s on the second shelf of the bookcase closest to the check-out counter,” Harry said before quickly making an exit.

He wove his way through the crowd of customers, approaching Draco, who had his back to him, at a rapid pace. Once behind him, Harry cleared his throat.

“Malfoy?”

Draco turned around, his sharp features hardening as eyes landed on Harry. “Potter? What in _Merlin’s name_ are you doing here?”

Harry frowned, running a hand through his thick mess of curls. “I, uh, well … I own the place.”

Draco arched an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. “You’re meaning to tell me that you’re the owner of the Whomping Willow Woolery?”

“Yes?” Harry said awkwardly, feeling his cheeks warm with embarrassment. “What are you doing here? I haven’t seen you since ―”

“The trial. Yes, I’m well aware, Potter. Now, I need assistance, and I’d really rather it not come from you. Is there anyone else who works here?” Draco asked.

Harry smirked. “The only other people are Hermione and Ron. Your pick.”

At that, Draco’s face fell, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m looking for yarn … for my mother.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blinking. “Uh, right. As a present?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. She’s been talking about this shop for ages, but she’s not able to visit due to her … house arrest sentence, so I thought I’d surprise her for Christmas.”

Harry swallowed thickly, guilt bubbling up inside his chest as memories of the Forbidden Forest flooded his mind: laying still on the cold dirt, Narcissa’s rose perfume consuming him as she had leaned down, the words, _“is Draco alive?”_ echoing in his ears.

“Okay,” he said, remembering to take a breath. “What exactly is it that you’re looking for?”

“I … don’t know,” Draco admitted, the tips of his ears growing red.

“Right. Does she have a favorite color or a favorite thing to knit?” Harry asked.

“Yes,” Draco said, his voice growing softer. “She mostly knits shawls, and her favorite color is purple.”

Harry nodded, his mind churning with ideas. “Okay. I’ve got the pattern for a shawl that I think would really suit her. It’ll require three skeins, and the book that has the pattern would need to be purchased.”

Draco pursed his lips in thought. “I’d like to see the shawl first.”

“Of course. Follow me,” Harry said.

Harry led him through the maze of customers and towards the right side of the store, stopping in front of a long, sweeping shawl that was turning slowly in the air. Harry had a particular fondness for this shawl, the yellow, turquoise, and light blue rectangular pattern making it pop.

Standing next to him, Harry realized that Draco had grown taller since last seeing him, towering at least three inches above Harry. He shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“So, this is the shawl. It doesn’t have to be these three colors, of course. You can pick any colors you want from the recommended yarn. How … does it look?” Harry asked.

After a moment of contemplation, Draco nodded. “Did you make this?”

“Um, yes. I did,” Harry said.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Draco turned to him. “I think she would love it. What colors are available?”

Harry couldn’t help but feel a surge of accomplishment, beckoning Draco to follow as he began walking towards the cubby holes against the wall. He then pulled out a light grey skein, holding it up for Draco to see.

“This is the yarn you’ll want to use. It’s 100% merino wool. Go ahead and pick three colors,” Harry said.

Silently, Draco peered into the cubby hole, his hands skimming through the different colors. After a moment, he picked up a dusty pink skein, a lavender skein, and the same light grey that Harry was holding.

“Okay. You want those three?” Harry asked.

“Yes. Do they … look nice together?” Draco asked.

Holding back a smile, Harry nodded. “Yeah, they do, and they’ll look great on your mum.”

“Good.”

A thick silence filled the air, neither of them quite knowing what to say. Harry could feel his heart beating steadily against his chest as he let himself look at Draco properly. He immediately regretted doing so.

The bloke was _fit_.

 _This is Malfoy, you’re talking about. He can’t be fit,_ Harry told himself.

 _Well,_ he countered, _you can objectively notice that someone is attractive. It doesn’t have to mean anything, and it’s not like this is new. You’ve found plenty of men and women attractive before._

Suddenly, a question popped into Harry’s head.

“Have you ever wanted to learn how to knit?”

Draco skeptically raised an eyebrow. “Not particularly. Why?”

“Well,” Harry began. “I’m hosting a beginner’s workshop here tomorrow morning, and there are still a few spaces available.”

“Potter, I don’t think that’s ―”

Harry smirked, crossing his arms. “Scared, Malfoy?”

The familiar fierceness that had always lingered behind Draco’s eyes in their days at Hogwarts returned, and Harry swore he could see the hint of a smile.

“You wish.”


	3. The Workshop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm totally Draco in this, desperately trying to impress my wife by attempting to knit. Turns out I'm much better at writing about knitting than actually doing it 😂
> 
> Also, still SOBBING over the love and support this has been shown so far. Thank you all so, so much for taking the time to read, comment, and leave kudos <3
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Thursday, Nov. 26th

Harry anxiously glanced at his watch for the fifth time in three minutes, his eyes then flickering to the front door of the shop. Outside, the morning was dark, quiet, and drizzly, the only semblance of light coming from floating, dimly lit lanterns that lined the cobbled alley.

Background chatter filled the air around him, people of all ages arranging themselves at the long wooden table Harry had transfigured in the middle of the shop. While he always enjoyed hosting the beginners workshop every other month, there was a small part of him that couldn’t shake the disappointment of Draco not showing up.

Looking at his watch one last time, he sighed and sat down at the head of the table.

“Alright, everyone. Well, welcome to the beginners workshop! As you can see, we’ve got everything you’ll need on the table: knitting needles, yarn, stitch markers, and the list goes on. However, if you find yourself needing something else, please don’t hesitate to let me know.

“Now, let’s go around and introduce ourselves. Please say your name and why you decided to take this workshop. I’ll start. My name is Harry, and I’ve been knitting for five years. I really struggled at the beginning though, and I was only able to learn through sheer stubbornness. My goal is to make the process of learning how to knit a little easier,” Harry said, and the table erupted into applause.

Next was the young man, roughly his age, sitting to his left.

“Alright, well, my name is Mark Hurley, and I decided to join the workshop because I’ve always been a huge crafter. When I was little, my mum couldn't get the Crayola crayons out of my hands. Recently enough, I’ve taken an interest in fiber arts. I’ve taught myself how to felt in the last month, and I’m really hoping that this class will help me develop my knitting skills.”

Harry smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mark.”

It wasn’t until halfway through the large group of students that the bell above the door chimed, and in walked Draco. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way his plaid chinos hugged his long legs and how perfectly his light blue jumper fell over his slender frame.

He swallowed thickly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Draco said sheepishly, taking a seat next to Harry, which happened to be the only one available.

“No worries. We’re just introducing ourselves,” Harry said, offering him a warm smile.

The confused look on Draco’s face jolted Harry back to reality. They weren’t friends.

Once everyone had gone around and introduced themselves, Harry began the lengthy process of explaining the various supplies that went into knitting, trying to channel the patience that Hermione had shown him all those years ago. And, as soon as all questions had been answered, Harry had the students each take a skein of cheap, bulky yarn and a pair of 5.0 mm needles. Draco was the last one to reach for his supplies, grabbing an obnoxiously bright orange ball with a grimace. Harry held in a snicker.

After teaching the students how to cast on and make a stitch, as well as explaining why they would need to flip the scarf over once they reached the end of a row, Harry let them reign free, working on his own scarf that he was making along with them.

Several minutes passed, and Harry took a look around the table. Everyone seemed to be doing alright, even the seven-year-old who was there with his grandmother. While some of the students, namely Mark, had managed to quickly pick up the flow of knitting and were flying through their rows, others were slower, going at their own pace. After having checked up on everyone, Harry finally let himself turn his attention to Draco, who was scowling at his knitting as he jammed the needles through the stitches on the first row, which everyone else had already managed to move past at this point.

“Hey,” Harry said softly, briefly touching Draco’s hand to get his attention. “Do you need some help?”

Draco looked up, frowning. “No thank you, Potter. I’m perfectly capable of figuring this out on my own.”

Harry winced as Draco continued to aggressively knit, if one could even call it that.

“Oh. Okay. Brilliant. Carry on, then,” he said before turning back to his own knitting.

As the late morning slowly inched towards midday, Harry found himself glancing in Draco’s general direction several times, each sending a violent wave of butterflies through his stomach. Draco was still struggling, dropping stitches left and right, and the beginning of his scarf looked more like a lopsided potholder than anything else. Meanwhile, everyone else was continuing to move along just fine, and Harry wasn’t worried about them getting the hang of knitting in the slightest. In fact, the only person he was concerned about was Draco.

By the time the workshop ended at noon, most people had managed to make a decent amount of progress in their scarves, and Harry felt a rush of both excitement and proudness. Teaching this workshop was one of the biggest highlights of running the shop, and he always left it feeling much better than he had going in.

“Alright, everyone! Amazing work. You’ve all done a great job and should be very proud of yourselves. Thank you so much for coming, and please don’t hesitate to pop into the shop if you need any help with your projects,” Harry said, grinning.

As soon as everyone began to pack up their things, Harry realized that he wasn’t quite ready for Draco, who hadn’t uttered a word since Harry had asked if he needed help, to leave. As the students began to disperse, he cleared his throat.

“Malfoy, would you mind staying after for a minute? I’d like to talk to you,” Harry said, anxiously picking at a hangnail.

Draco frowned. “Alright.”

“Good.”

Once everyone had been waved off, Harry stared at Draco.

Draco stared back.

“So,” Harry said slowly, “what did you think of the workshop?”

Draco sighed, glancing at the tangled mess of yarn and needles sitting in front of him. “Well, I’m surprised my knitting didn’t burst into flames, to be quite honest.”

Harry, caught off guard by his humor, let out a bark of laughter. “Listen, my knitting looked the same way when I first started. If you wanted, I’d be really happy to keep teaching you one-on-one. You wouldn’t have to pay for these lessons. We could just sit. And knit.”

Draco skeptically raised an eyebrow. “You’re actively offering to spend more time with me?”

Harry shrugged. “Sure. You seem like you need some … _extra guidance_ when it comes to knitting, so if it’s something you’d like to keep up, I’d be happy to help.”

“What’s in it for you?” Draco asked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing ‘in it’ for me, you git. I love teaching. That’s it.”

“ … Alright.”

“Alright?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “Alright. When do we start?”

“Well,” Harry said, glancing down at his wristwatch, “I was planning on closing up for lunch while I grab something at Florean’s. If you want to join me, we can talk about a schedule there.”

“Okay. Are we going now?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, we should. I’d ideally like to be back here around 1:30. Let me just grab my stuff. I’ll be right back,” Harry said before darting back to the check-out counter.

Picking his satchel up from the ground, he double-checked that he had his wand, keys, and knitting before taking a moment to simply look at Draco, who was running his slender fingers along the cubbyholes, his pale skin stark against the pops of color.

There was something so different about him, and yet things were still familiar. He seemed to have mellowed a bit since the war, and it no longer appeared like he was an arsehole for the fun of it. For some reason, the changes in Draco had sparked a curiosity in Harry, who wanted nothing more than to get to know who he was now, after all this time.

Just before Harry was about to look away, Draco glanced up, catching his eye. Harry watched as Draco’s pale face grew crimson in color, and he shifted away, looking flustered.

“Okay,” Harry said, clearing his throat awkwardly as he wandered to where Draco was standing. “Ready?”

Draco nodded, a deep blush still lingering on his cheeks . “Sure.”

After stepping through the front door and into the heavy downpour of rain, Harry hastily took out his keys and locked the door behind them. When he glanced up, Draco was giving him a funny look.

“You do realize that you’re a wizard, right?” he asked, smirking.

Harry snorted. “Nothing wrong with preferring to lock my doors with keys instead of a wand.”

“Suit yourself,” Draco said.

In order to avoid the heavy downpour, they walked underneath the row of overhangs lining the fronts of shops, an occasional raindrop hitting them. The alley was quiet, although Harry could see that all of the shops were bustling with customers. As they passed Flourish and Blotts, a surge of childhood memories passed through Harry’s mind, causing him to smile to himself.

Harry shuddered at the change of temperature as they walked into Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlor, the warmth from the shop seeping into him. It was relatively busy, although Harry wasn’t surprised. Since Florean’s death, his daughter, Amelia, had been doing everything she could to keep the place in tip-top shape.

They wandered to the counter, queuing up. Harry took out his wallet.

“I’m paying, by the way,” he said.

Draco looked down at him, frowning. “I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own order, thank you very much.”

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I was the one who dragged you along, so I’m buying.”

“Potter, I truly do not need you to pay for me,” Draco said, an edge to his voice.

“Oh, for the love of Merlin,” Harry muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. You pay for yourself.”

Draco nodded curtly in response.

Harry took a look at the board, his eyes immediately zeroing in on the hot chocolate section. There were several flavors available, and while he could attest that the orange, raspberry, and caramel hot chocolates were excellent, he was rather curious about the peppermint flavor.

“Do you know what you’re going to get?” Harry asked.

“Butterbeer, I think,” Draco said.

“Alright.”

Once they reached the front of the queue, Amelia immediately greeted them with a wide smile.

“Harry! Good to see you, love. Here to try a new hot chocolate flavor?” she asked, winking.

“This is probably a sign that I come here too much,” he said, letting out a laugh. “Yes, I’d like the peppermint hot chocolate.”

“Oh, excellent choice. Cream and marshmallows?” Amelia asked.

Harry nodded. “Yes please.”

“Alrighty,” Amelia said before turning to Draco, her smile tightening. “And you, sir?”

“I’d like a Butterbeer, please,” Draco said softly, averting his eyes.

“Paying together or separate?” Amelia asked, pointedly looking at Harry instead of Draco.

“Separate, please,” Harry said, fishing money out of his wallet as Draco did the same.

Once they’d paid, Amelia having taken Draco’s money with forced politeness, they went to the end of the counter and waited for their drinks to be made. Harry looked around, realizing that several people were staring at Draco, none of them hiding their discontent.

“Malfoy,” Harry said quietly, “are you okay? Do you want to get out of here?”

Draco shook his head, his eyes focused ahead. “No. It’s alright. I’m used to this.”

Harry frowned but said nothing else. After Amelia handed them their drinks, Harry spotted a secluded booth in the back and led Draco to it. As they settled in, sitting across from one another, Harry could smell the rich peppermint coming from his hot chocolate, cream melting over the sides. Draco’s butterbeer didn’t look too bad, either, a warm butterscotch scent coming from its direction.

Taking out his knitting, Harry sighed. “So, you get that a lot?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. I’m truly surprised that no one in the workshop said anything to me. I suppose it was because they were all so invested in their work.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry said.

Draco shrugged. “Don’t be. I don’t blame them. I made some really poor choices when I was younger that I deeply regret, and if hating me makes people feel better, then so be it.”

Harry frowned, not sure what to say.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, Potter,” Draco said, rolling his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like I just kicked a kitten. Drink your hot chocolate and stop pouting,” Draco said, taking a long sip of his Butterbeer.

Startled, Harry also took a small drink from his sticky mug before resuming his knitting.

“So,” he began. “What’ve you been up to since the war?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s the conversation we’re going to have?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not?”

“Because you’re … _you_.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, laughter escaping his lips.

“Do you honestly want to hear what a former Death Eater has been up to all these years?” Draco asked.

Without pausing, Harry said, “Of course I do. Listen, you were a shithead in school, and you made some fucked up decisions, but I’ve also realized that you were a kid when the war happened, just like me. You were only doing what was asked of you by your parents and by Voldemort ―”

Draco flinched at the name.

“― And I doubt you ever had a say in the matter. I just wish other people would realize that,” Harry said, muttering the last part as he averted his eyes.

When he looked up, Draco was staring at him.

“You really think that?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I do.”

Draco sighed, running a hand through his neatly trimmed hair. “Can we move on?"

“Sure. So, do you want to set a formal schedule for your lessons, or do you want to just come by whenever you’re feeling like it?” Harry asked.

“The latter, I think,” Draco said.

Harry smiled warmly at him. “I look forward to it.”

☙☙☙

When Draco left forty minutes later, Harry found himself feeling sorely disappointed and threw himself into helping customers for the rest of the afternoon.

By the time six o’clock rolled around, Harry had flipped the open sign to close and let down the front blinds before locking the door. Once everything had been closed up for the night, he scooped up Stockinette, who was sleeping on top of a pile of alpaca skeins in one of the eye-level cubbyholes, and slung his satchel over his shoulder before exiting through the back room and heading upstairs.

As soon as he unlocked the door to his flat, Stockinette twisted out of his arms and made a beeline for one of her favorite spots, the back of the couch in the living room. Setting down his things on the kitchen counter and digging his knitting out of his satchel, Harry let out a heavy sigh, his mind churning with thoughts of Draco.

He truly was a horrible knitter.

Wandering down the hall and to the bedroom, Harry couldn’t help but smile at the memory of seeing Draco’s progress on his scarf, it having looked so much like Harry’s very first project. The first thing he would need to go over with Draco would be the tension in his knitting. His stitches had been unfathomably tight, not uncommon for new knitters, and Harry had noticed that Draco had been having trouble slipping the stitches onto the needles because of it.

After removing the glimmer on his scar and changing into a hoodie and fleece pajama bottoms, Harry walked back to the kitchen, where he pulled out a menu for an Indian restaurant down the road. Ever since having discovered that wizarding restaurants did takeaway via owls, Harry had taken great advantage of the convenience, telling himself that he deserved to not cook one or two times a week.

Running a knitting shop _was_ hard work, after all.

Once he had placed his order through tapping the items he wanted with the tip of his wand, he made himself a cuppa and settled onto the couch. Stockinette jumped in surprised, glowering at Harry as she rearranged herself.

Grabbing the remote off of the coffee table, Harry flicked the television on, surfing through the channels and eventually landing on _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_. Then, he got to knitting.

He felt a surge of serotonin as soon as the pads of his fingers graced over the soft, forest green and cream colored cashmere wool of the left glove. Like many of his projects, the gloves were mosaic, rectangular patterns rippling across the body of them. Although he had more projects going on than he cared to admit, several of them sitting in time-out at the back of his knitting closet due to frustration, gloves were an easy, mindless project that he found to be extremely helpful after a full day of work. When he had more energy, he tended to focus on his mustard yellow jumper, working from the top down. The yoke of the jumper, a robin blue leaf pattern stemming from the cusp of the neckline and stopping at the bottom of the chest, required a bit more attention and brainwork, although he didn’t mind. He hadn’t yet reached the sleeves of the jumper, which he was grateful for, as they were known among the knitting world for being some of the longest, most boring knitting work one could do. In fact, Harry often referred to it as Sleeve Island, desperate to become unstranded from rows upon rows of the same stitch.

After forty minutes, Harry found himself deeply immersed in coconut curry over noodles and fresh, warm naan bread. Stockinette, having grown quite curious, was sitting opposite Harry on the coffee table, her tail swishing in anticipation.

“Listen, Stocky, I love you,” Harry said through a mouthful of curry. “I really do. But, there’s no way in hell you’re getting my dinner.”

Unfortunately, this did not deter Stockinette from trying, causing Harry to miss most of his episode.

As he finally finished his dinner, there was a polite knock on his living room window. Looking up, he could make out Hermione’s soft, tufted brown owl through the frosty glass. He stood up with a sigh, his stomach feeling uncomfortably stretched, and wandered towards the window, opening it.

“Hey, Artemis,” Harry said, stroking her gently before untying the scroll attached to her right ankle.

Artemis gave him a soft hoot, and Harry beckoned her inside. She immediately flew over to the coffee table, perching next to Stockinette, who was giving her the stink-eye. Harry sat back down on the couch, unrolling the piece of parchment paper. There, he saw Hermione's neat, loopy handwriting scrawled across the page.

_Harry,_

_Ron and I both have meetings tomorrow morning, so our work day will be ending early. Are you up for dinner at our flat? Ron’s planning on making a stir fry. At the very least, it’d give us time to brainstorm the shop’s front window display as we head into the holiday season._

_I’m sorry our lives have become so chaotic. I feel like we hardly get to see each other anymore. Hopefully we’ll be able to play catch-up over the Christmas hols._

_Lots of love, Hermione_

_P.S. What are the chances that you ordered takeaway tonight?_

Harry grinned, excitement thrumming through him as he quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and pencil. He, Ron, and Hermione hadn’t eaten dinner together in quite a while, so this was a luxury that he had sorely missed.

After scrawling a messy confirmation back, Harry sent Artemis on her way and settled back down onto the couch, where Stockinette wasted no time in slinking into his lap, staring up at him with her bright blue eyes.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry. I won’t leave you behind while I go to Ron and Hermione’s flat tomorrow.”

Stockinette let out a content purr as she closed her eyes, and Harry followed.

Before he knew it, he had slipped into the brink of sleep, flashes of blonde hair and pale skin appearing behind his eyelids.


	4. Dinner With the Granger-Weasleys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so it's to the stage where I should probably now write the last two chapters 😂 
> 
> I can't get over how much love TWWW is getting. Thank you all so much for taking time out of your day to read, comment, and leave kudos ❤
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Saturday, Nov. 28th

The next evening, an hour before closing, Harry found himself looking longingly at the door, wishing nothing more than for a particular blond to wander into the shop.

The frosty day had gone by in a blur, having helped at least fifty customers. However, no matter how engrossed he had been in any given conversation, he couldn’t help but notice that his thoughts kept returning to Draco, wondering if he’d practiced any knitting since the workshop. Hell, he wondered if he would even see Draco again, worrying that he’d scared him off the previous day with his abrupt forgiveness.

After the last customer, a middle-aged man who was a regular shopper, left, Harry checked his watch, which read five minutes until closing time. With a sigh, he reluctantly gave up on the idea that he would see Draco and forced his thoughts to move on, concentrating on neatening up the cubby holes that were dwindling concerningly low. He made a mental note to order more yarn, specifically merino wool from a small indie brand named Babbity Rabbity’s Ravelry.

Just as he had moved from the first wall of cubby holes to the second, Harry heard the bell above the door go off. Confused as to who would be coming by mere moments before closing, he looked up and was met with a sight he hadn’t expected.

Draco was standing by the door, a project bag’s handle looped around his slender left wrist. He looked nervous, fidgeting with the hem of his black wool peacoat, which was fitted nicely over a beige turtleneck jumper.

Harry knit his eyebrows together. “Malfoy?”

“I know you’re about to close,” Draco began, shifting his weight, “but I have a couple questions about knitting that I hoped you could answer.”

Harry offered him a warm smile as he wandered over. “I’d love to, but I’m meeting Ron and Hermione for dinner in thirty minutes. How about you come with me, and then you, Hermione, and I can do some knitting together and answer any questions you have?”

Draco frowned. “Potter, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea ―”

Harry waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Nonsense. Listen, it’s been years since the war. It might take a little getting used to, but I’ve no doubt that Ron and Hermione will warm up to you. I can ask them through the Floo if it’s alright. Come on, follow me.”

Without waiting for Draco to respond, Harry locked up, gathered his things, and headed up the stairs. Draco followed silently. Once they made it into Harry’s flat, Draco let out a soft gasp.

“You … _live_ above the shop?” he asked, looking around.

Harry snorted as he dropped his things off on the kitchen counter and walked into the living room. “Yeah. I’ve got to say, it’s bloody convenient. Now, feel free to take a seat on the couch. They won’t be able to see you from there.”

Pulling a face, Draco wandered over to the couch, taking a seat with a heavy sigh while Harry kneeled down in front of the fireplace. After quickly igniting a log, he stuck his head into the fireplace and placed his Fire-Call. After a moment, he could see the outline of Ron and Hermione’s faces poking through the embers.

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry said. “I, well … I’ve got a question.”

“Well, that’s never a good thing. What is it, mate?” Ron asked.

“Long story short, Draco came into the shop on Saturday while you two were busy with customers. He was looking for yarn for Narcissa, and since then I’ve begun teaching him how to knit. I was … well … I was wondering if he could come over for dinner as well, and we could do some knitting afterwards while we discussed the shop,” Harry said.

“Harry, you’re not serious ―” Ron began, but Harry interrupted him.

“Listen, I know it’s mad, but hear me out. He’s changed since the war. He’s not the arsehole he was as a kid, and he’s really trying. I’m not asking you to immediately like him. I’m just asking that you give him a chance.”

Hermione sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Alright, Harry. I trust you. Ron?”

Ron awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah, I … I suppose that’ll be fine. But, if the Ferret utters a single word out of line, I swear ―”

“He won’t,” Harry interjected. “Thank you both so much.”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said, sounding weary. “We’ll see you both in a few minutes.”

With that, the call ended, and Harry looked back towards Draco, who was, if possible, even paler than usual.

“Hey,” Harry began, taking a seat next to Draco. “It’s going to be alright. This is a do-over, a clean slate. And if you’re going to be lurking around the shop, you might as well get to know Ron and Hermione, you know? Plus, Hermione was the one who taught me how to knit, so she might be of some use when it comes to teaching you.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Potter, I’m trusting you. If this blows up in my face ―”

“Don’t worry. It won’t,” Harry said, shooting him a reassuring smile. “Well, we should probably get going. I just need to grab Stockinette.”

“Alright.”

Once Stockinette had been picked up and Harry had stuffed his wallet and keys into the back pocket of his jeans, they stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a puff of green flames.

After a moment of being consumed in heat, the world stopped spinning, and Harry found himself stepping into Ron and Hermione’s spacious living room. The mouth-watering smell of soy sauce and sautéed vegetables filled the air, causing Harry’s stomach to rumble.

Draco stumbled out after him, straightening the collar of his coat as he looked around. Ron and Hermione lived in a decently sized flat in the heart of London, the city’s bright lights shimmering against the darkness of the night through the living room window. Their walls were, with the insistence of Hermione, covered in Muggle art prints, and the flat had been brought to life with levitating houseplants hovering next to the fireplace and the couch.

As soon as Harry set Stockinette down on the ground, Crookshanks came lumbering out from the kitchen, his thick, weathered body truly showing his age. Stockinette began creeping towards Crookshanks, the two of them staring at each other in the process. Harry found himself holding his breath, hoping that Crookshanks would decide to be reasonably cordial. He’d brought Stockinette over to Ron and Hermione’s plenty of times, but each visit was different, depending on Crookshanks’ mood.

Thankfully, Crookshanks gave a single sniff before wandering down the hall that led to their bedroom. Stockinette took this as her cue to curl up on the couch’s right arm.

“Ron! ‘Mione! We’re here!” Harry hollered.

“Be right there! Make yourselves at home!” Hermione shouted back.

At Hermione’s words, Harry took a seat on the couch, patting the space next to him. Draco cautiously followed, sitting down as though he was waiting for a bomb to go off. Since coming into the shop for the first time, Harry had only seen him this uptight when they’d gone to the ice-cream parlor.

After a minute of tense silence, Hermione rounded the corner, dressed in fitted jeans and a burnt orange jumper that Harry had knit for her a while back.

“Hi, Harry,” Hermione said, giving him a quick hug before turning to Draco.

“Granger,” Draco began, awkwardly clearing his throat, “thank you for having me.”

Hermione gave him a warm smile, although Harry noted that it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

As she took a seat in the armchair to the left of the couch, she said, “please, call me Hermione. And of course, Draco. Anyone who’s a friend of Harry’s is a friend of ours.”

Draco mustered up a tight-lipped smile. “So, I hear you work for the Ministry now? Which department?”

“Yes!” Hermione said, her eyes lighting up at the mention of work. “I’m Head of the Muggle Liaison Department, and it’s absolutely incredible. I’m at the forefront of making magic folk more comfortable with Muggles and their ways of life, which is beyond valuable. In fact, we’ve had a severe drop in crimes against Muggles in the last three years ―”

“Slow down, ‘Mione. Don’t want to scare the bloke off,” Ron said, wandering in from the kitchen with a tea towel thrown over his flannel-clad shoulder.

Draco stiffly stood up as Ron approached him, sticking out his hand. Ron took it rather briefly.

“Malfoy,” Ron said, nodding.

Weasley,” Draco said curtly before sitting back down.

Ron also took a seat, pulling a chair next to where Hermione was sitting and taking her hand in his. Harry swallowed thickly, willing the tension in the room to disperse, even if only a little. He had gone into this knowing it would take some time for the three of them to get comfortable with each other, but now that they were actually in the process, Harry desperately wished they could skip this awkward beginning.

“So, Draco,” Hermione began, shifting in her seat, “what is it that you do?”

“Oh,” Draco said, frowning. “Well, my mother started a floral arrangement company three years ago, and I help her with that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked,” Draco said, turning to him and shrugging.

“I imagine running the company is a good distraction for Narcissa, given her house arrest,” Hermione said.

Harry watched as Draco’s face paled, knowing that they were skirting around the edges of dangerous territory: house arrest meant war crimes, war crimes meant loyalty to Voldemort, and loyalty to Voldemort meant prejudices that were nearly impossible to forgive.

“Uh, yes. She finds it to be very therapeutic. That, and her arrangements are incredible. In fact, Kingsley often commissions her to put together arrangements for Ministry balls. If I remember correctly, there’s going to be one on the 22nd,” Draco said.

Ron nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. All of the Aurors have been invited, and I think Hermione and I are planning on going."

“So, you’re an Auror, then?” Draco asked, looking towards Ron.

“Yep,” Ron said, crossing his legs. “I’ve been a full-time Auror for a few years now.”

Draco nodded. “And how are you liking it?”

“Oh, it’s brilliant. The adrenaline that comes with it is unlike anything else. It also helps that I love having Seamus as a partner, which I try to rub in Harry’s face as much as possible,” Ron said, grinning.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Give it up, Ronald. Harry wanted to become an Auror _years_ ago, and he’s perfectly happy now. Isn’t that right, Harry?”

Harry snorted.

Draco turned to him, a look of confusion crossing his face. “You wanted to be an Auror?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I started thinking about it while we were still at Hogwarts. After the war, though … I decided that route wasn’t for me. I needed to find something that didn’t revolve around adrenaline and vigilance.”

“Makes sense,” Draco said softly.

“Well,” Ron said, standing up, “I should probably go make sure that the spoon I charmed is still stirring the stir fry. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come help,” Hermione said, following him into the kitchen.

Harry turned to Draco, who was staring blankly at his shoes. “Hey, are you okay?”

Draco looked up, nodding. “Yes. It’s all just a little overwhelming, I suppose.”

“That makes sense. Do you need to go?” Harry asked.

“No, I’m alright. Plus, I’d really like to see how Hermione knits,” Draco said, briefly smirking before continuing. “Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”

“Of course. Listen, this isn’t going to be easy for any of you, but I’m just glad you’re all trying. That’s what matters,” Harry said.

“Potter, we’ve barely begun to get to know each other again. Why is it that you so desperately want for me to get along with them?” Draco asked.

Harry could feel heat rising to his cheeks. “Because you deserve forgiveness.”

Before Draco had a chance to respond, Ron yelled from the kitchen, “dinner’s ready!”

With a sigh, Harry stood up, and Draco followed.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Draco said.

☙☙☙

Dinner had gone by surprisingly well, the conversation mostly consisting of small talk and pleasant inquiries about each others’ lives. Now, as they resumed sitting on the couch and the surrounding chairs, Harry watched as Draco tried desperately to pick up a stitch without dropping it. In the chair next to where Draco was seated on the couch sat Hermione, who was at the tail end of knitting her socks.

“Malfoy, do you need help?” Harry asked.

“That’s quite alright, Potter,” Draco said curtly, not taking his eyes off of his knitting.

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, both of them knowing that Draco did, indeed, need help if he had any hope of finishing his scarf.

“Draco …” Hermione began, setting her knitting on the coffee table and scooting closer to where he was sitting. “Can I make a suggestion?”

Draco sighed, looking up. “Oh, I suppose.”

“You might have an easier time if you loosen your grip. You’ve been knitting with a lot of tension, and I think this is why you’re having such a difficult time picking up your stitches,” Hermione said. “Can I show you what I mean on your scarf?”

“Sure,” Draco said, handing his knitting to her.

“Alright. See how I can’t get my needle through the stitch because it’s so tight? However, if I hold it like this,” Hermione said, adjusting her grip, “it works much easier. It’ll still be a little tense due to the fact that your other stitches are so tight, but it should get better. Can you see the difference?”

Draco leaned closer, squinting. “I think so.”

“Great. Give it a go again and see how it works,” Hermione said, handing him his knitting.

They spent the next hour knitting and chatting away, Ron working on a crossword puzzle. After deciding that the front window display should involve jumpers and the Snowfall Spell, they discussed the rest of the shop’s decorations for a good while. Harry kept sneaking glances at Draco, searching for some semblance of enjoyment in his face.

After another forty minutes, Draco checked his watch and let out a sigh. “I should probably get going. I promised I’d help my mother with inventory tonight."

Harry paused in the middle of his row, looking up with the feeling of disappointment settling into his stomach. “You’re sure you’ve got to go?”

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement as he began to gather his things. “My, my, Potter. That fond of me already?”

Harry felt heat rushing to his cheeks.

“Well, I’m sorry to see you go, Draco. I’ve had a lovely time,” Hermione said, setting down her knitting and standing up.

“Yeah, you weren’t nearly as horrible as I was expecting,” Ron chimed in.

A brief quietness settled over the room as Draco stood up, and Harry could see that he was beginning to feel uneasy.

“Listen,” Draco began, his gaze shifting from Ron to Hermione, “I … I’d like to apologize. Formally, I mean. I was awful to you both, and no matter how much I wish I could take every vile thing I said back, I know that I can’t. It’s taken years for me to fully own up to my decisions, and now that I have … well, please know that I am very, truly sorry for the years of bullying and all of the hurt I caused. I'm not expecting to be forgiven. I just … wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione murmured, leaning into Ron, who was now standing next to her. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much that means.”

Draco offered her a hesitant smile, warming Harry’s heart. Although he’d forgiven Draco the moment he’d walked into the shop, there had been a part of him worrying about how Ron and Hermione would react.

Ron walked forward, standing even with Draco, and clapped him on the back. “Listen, Malfoy, that was really good of you, and we appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Draco said, nodding anxiously. “Well, I’ve had a lovely time tonight. Thank you both so much for welcoming me into your home.”

“You’ve got Harry to thank for that,” Ron said, grinning.

Draco looked to Harry. “Thanks … Potter.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile. “Any time, Malfoy.”

Once goodbyes had been said and Draco had stepped into the Floo, Harry turned around to find both Ron and Hermione staring at him.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” Harry asked, instinctively rubbing the area around his lips.

“Mate,” Ron began, smirking, “you _like_ him.”

Harry, surprised, let out a laugh of disbelief. “Me? Like Malfoy? Come off it, Ron.”

“Sorry, Harry, but Ron’s got a point. You couldn’t keep your eyes off him,” Hermione said.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. “No way. Just because Malfoy is funny, kind, sarcastic, and _beyond_ fit …”

A heavy silence fell over them, and suddenly everything fell into place.

“ _Shit_ ,” Harry murmured. “I like Malfoy.”

“Are you really surprised?” Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. “I mean, you were kind of obsessed with him when we were younger. Need I remind you that you spent the entirety of sixth year watching his footprints on the Marauder’s Map?”

Harry absently sat down, running a hand nervously through his hair. “Well, I was only interested in him because I knew there was something going on ― and I was right, wasn’t I?”

Hermione took a seat next to him, frowning as she rubbed her hand soothingly in a circle on his back. “That’s not the point, Harry. I suppose what Ron and I are trying to get at is that you’ve always been far more interested in Malfoy than the rest of us. For some reason, you two just seemed to connect, even if it wasn’t necessarily in a good way. It makes a lot of sense to me that now, having had some distance since our days at Hogwarts and the war, you’re figuring out your feelings for him. I truly wouldn’t be surprised if you liked him all along and just didn’t realize it because of everything that was happening.”

“That,” Ron butted in, “and he was a prick.”

“Well,” Hermione said quietly, “yes. There’s that.”

Harry let out a weary sigh. “You two must have figured this out before tonight, since neither of you seem surprised.”

“Well,” Ron said, scooping Stockinette into his arms and placing dry kisses onto her forehead, “I certainly wasn’t the one to figure it out first. That was all ‘Mione. She came to me in what, fourth year? After the Yule Ball. Said that there was something strange about the way you’d been looking at Malfoy all night.”

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry said, dropping his head into his hands. “I’m fucked, aren’t I? I’m really, truly fucked.”


	5. Pad Thai and Snowflakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of my favorite chapters, so I'm super excited to be posting this morning! I hope you all are doing well, and thank you so much for the continuous support <3
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Monday, Nov. 30th

“Stockinette, would you quit it?”

Harry glared at his cat, who was in the midst of climbing into an empty cardboard box that had been full of new knitting books. She glowered at him in return before promptly hopping inside.

Rolling his eyes, Harry turned back to his task at hand ― decorating the shop. He had closed up an hour ago, and while there was nowhere he’d rather be than in his bed, he needed to get the holiday decorations done.

With a heavy sigh, Harry wandered to the back room, grabbing a ladder before setting it up against the right wall of the shop and beginning to string white and red streamers across the ceiling. Once he had tacked one side up, he moved to the opposite wall, the bright colors standing out against the dark wooden beams.

Just as he finished attaching the other end of the streamers to the top of the wall, Harry heard a soft rapping sound. Turning on the ladder in the direction of the sound, he saw a petite snowy owl waiting patiently outside the front of the shop, her large black eyes looking glassy through the window pane.

Realizing he didn’t recognize the owl, he stepped down the ladder and headed towards the front door, curiosity getting the best of him. After opening the door and beckoning the owl inside, her sleek feathers slick with rainwater, he swiftly untied the rolled piece of parchment tied to her ankle by a neat white ribbon and straightened it out in his hands.

There, he could see clean, loopy letters scrawled across the page in deep black ink.

_Potter,_

_First of all ― yes, I do realize how strange this is, and yes, I’m choosing to ignore it._

_My mother is hosting her garden club this evening, and … well … I’d rather not spend my evening surrounded by weathered old women who have an unnaturally deep love for begonias (although I will admit that they are beautiful. My mother dedicated an entire corner of the front garden to rows upon rows of white, pink, and red begonias, and they’re particularly lovely from spring to autumn)._

_I was wondering if you were available this evening to talk about yarn. I have a project in mind, and I’d like some help picking out the right wool._

_D.M._

_P.S. Please give Colette a treat. She hates flying in the rain._

Harry raised an eyebrow, amusement settling in as he stared at Draco’s words. Perhaps the most perplexing thing about the note was the fact that, once again, Draco was coming to him for help with his knitting. While the Whomping Willow Woolery did just fine among the locals, it was in no way the most prestigious yarn shop in the wizarding part of London. Several resided around the place, one even being located in Knockturn Alley now that it was no longer dedicated to both the Dark Arts and Dark Magic, instead becoming solely a branch off of Diagon Alley. The idea that Draco would choose his shop out of everyone baffled him, and he found himself slightly desperate to know the answer.

Harry read the letter again, his eyes catching on the description of the front garden. The last time he’d been to the Malfoy Manor, everything had been dead. The garden, which he was sure had once been magnificent, had been dull and grey, and the leaves of plants that were long gone had turned the color of ash. Of course, he hadn't gotten get a very good look at the garden in general, considering that it had been at the height of the war.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, jagged memories filled with Hermione’s screams as she was tortured by Lestrange piercing the quiet air, and Draco’s note fluttered to the floor.

He could remember it all so vividly ― the shouts of pain coming from Hermione, Luna’s look of complete and utter hopelessness, Dobby’s bright green eyes, and Draco.

Always Draco.

Before Harry’s mind could churn any further, he felt something soft move against his leg. Opening his eyes, which were blurry with tears, and looking down, he saw that Stockinette had come out from her box and was now nuzzling him. He smiled softly, wiping his nose on the back of his hoodie sleeve before bending down to give her a thorough pet. Although he’d never trained her in any capacity to sense when he was beginning to disassociate, Stockinette had somehow managed to pick it up, never failing to ground him.

“Thanks, Stocky,” Harry murmured before swiftly picking her, as well as the note, up and wandering back to the check-out counter.

There, he set Stockinette on the counter and then dug a piece of parchment, an ink pot, and a quill out from one of the drawers.

With a heavy sigh, he began to write.

_Malfoy,_

_I’m surprised you’re opting out of your mum’s garden club, as it seems like something right up your alley! I can just imagine you chatting with her friends and having a brilliant time._

_I’m kidding. (Sort of.)_

_Anyway, yes, I’d be happy to help you, although I’m rather curious about this new project of yours. You do realize that you’re a novice knitter, right? Two projects seems like a lot. Or, have you given up on your scarf? If you have, I’m obligated to give you a pep talk._

_Fair warning, I’m most likely going to enlist you in assisting me with decorating the shop. It needs to get finished tonight, and there are only so many times I can cast the Snowfall Spell without my hands feeling like they’re going to fall off._

_Come by anytime. I’ll be here._

_H.P._

Satisfied, Harry quickly cast the Drought Charm on the letter, a trick used to keep letters dry during the most terrible of storms, and tied it around Colette’s ankle. After giving her a treat from the jar that he kept at the front of the shop, he opened the door for her. With one hoot of gratitude, Colette swiftly took off into the inky rainclouds.

Trudging back through the shop and onto the ladder, Harry let out a long sigh, willing Draco to get here soon.

☙☙☙

An hour passed before Draco showed up, politely knocking on the door and then stepping inside. Harry nearly fell off of the ladder, staring so intently at the way Draco’s crisp collared shirt was tucked neatly into his form-fitting trousers that he lost balance, only barely managing to right himself again.

Draco arched an eyebrow as he stripped off his coat and hung it on the coat rack next to the door. “Alright, Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat as he awkwardly pushed up his glasses in an attempt to distract from his embarrassment. “Y ― yes, all good. I’ll be down in a minute. This paper snowflake has been an absolute bastard.”

As Harry resumed his fiddling with one of the paper snowflakes that Hermione had cut out for him, it swiftly levitated out of his grasp, the end of its twine attaching itself to the ceiling so that it neatly dangled. Startled, Harry looked down only to see Draco smirking at him, wand in the air.

“You do realize that you’re a wizard, right? You _can_ decorate using magic,” Draco said smugly.

“Really? I had _no_ idea!” Harry said, rolling his eyes as he stepped down from the ladder. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Well,” Draco began, taking a look around the shop, “I’d like to pick out yarn for a hat.”

Harry frowned. “Alright. Do you know what weight and measurements the pattern calls for?”

“Worsted, and it recommended 64-155 meters.”

“Okay. Are you … are you sure you want to start another project?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “Yes, Potter. I’m sure.”

Harry quirked an eyebrow. “Well, who are you making it for?”

“None of your business,” Draco said harshly, although his voice was lacking venom.

Harry’s heart sank, his mind churning with ideas of who Draco was knitting the hat for. He and Parkinson had always seemed close during school, and he was nearly certain that they’d dated at some point. Perhaps it was a gift for her? Or, if not, some other person lucky enough to call Draco theirs.

Harry swallowed thickly. “Right. Okay. Follow me.”

He led Draco towards the back end of the shop, stopping in front of a cubby hole filled to the brim with colorful skeins of yarn, all of their labels reading _Ridgeback and Co._ Harry watched as Draco hesitantly reached his arm out, softly running his fingers over the yarn.

“I mostly use _Ridgeback and Co._ when making hats, since it’s pretty soft. You’ll only need one skein, so have at it,” Harry said, gesturing for Draco to pick a color.

After a moment of hesitation, Draco’s hand landed on a deep mustard colored skein with flecks of white and red in the wool. Harry grinned, that particular color being one of his favorites from the collection.

“Great choice. I love that color, although I’ve yet to use it for something,” Harry said.

“It’s beautiful,” Draco agreed as he followed Harry to the check-out counter. “Has it been hand dyed?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, everything here is. It’s really only the mass-produced yarns that aren’t hand dyed. Otherwise, you’re likely to be looking at indie dyers. No matter what brand of yarn, each batch of dyed skeins is called a dye lot. With projects that involve more than one skein of yarn, you’ll want to make sure that your skeins are from the same lot, as each one varies in color due to the hand dying aspect. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Draco said, setting his yarn on the table and fishing out the owed money from a small, expertly knit coin purse that only Narcissa could’ve made.

“Good. Well, you’re all set with your yarn. Want me to keep it here on the counter until we finish decorating?” Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I love how you’re _assuming_ I’ll help you decorate.”

Harry shot him a cheeky grin. “Well, I _did_ warn you. Now, would you rather work on the toy train that needs to go in the front window or the tree that’s to go near the back? I don’t mind.”

“Me neither. I’ll do anything,” Draco said, the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Alright,” Harry said, nodding. “Well, I need to finish the paper snowflakes, so why don’t you get started on the toy train? There's lots to do before we can add the snow flurries, which will be a last touch.”

“Sounds good.”

As they began to decorate, Harry trying desperately to concentrate on hanging the snowflakes instead of looking at Draco’s bum, music came flowing out of the Muggle speakers at the back of the shop, the sweet sound of Bing Crosby singing _It’s Beginning To Look a Lot Like Christmas_ filling the air. Draco, of course, managed to make several comments saying that The Weird Sisters’ Christmas album was far superior, resulting in many eye rolls and rude gestures from Harry.

While Draco spread out the length of the toy train on top of the knee-high shelf in the front window, assorted knitted garments levitating above it, Harry finished stringing the snowflakes, and he swiftly moved onto dragging the fake Christmas tree from the back room and propping it near the check-out counter, its white lights flickering on. No conversation flowed between the two of them, and yet the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it was comforting, their presences being more than enough to occupy the space.

It took them a good two hours to finish, even with magic, and by the time they were done, Harry felt absolutely knackered. As they stood together in the center of the shop, their eyes taking in the glow of decorations, Harry couldn’t help but concentrate on the heat coming from Draco’s body, which was alarmingly close. Only six centimeters, and their hands would be touching.

Draco turned to look at Harry, his cheeks rosy from grinning. “Well, should we add the final touch?”

“You do the honors.”

Harry watched as Draco raised his wand, casting the Snowfall Spell. Slowly, glistening clusters of snow flurries began to fall gently from the ceiling, dissolving upon impact on the ground. Harry looked to Draco, only to find him eyes wide and smiling brightly, several snowflakes landing on his light blond eyelashes.

As they stood surrounded in a whirl of white, Harry swore he could feel his heartbeat everywhere, thudding heavily from his eardrums to the tips of his fingers. And, for the first time, he didn’t quite hate that Draco was so much taller than him ― something that had always bothered him during their days at Hogwarts. In fact, it was nice being able to look up into his stone colored eyes, which Harry couldn’t manage to stop staring into. Only a few centimeters closer, and they would be kissing ―

Draco loudly cleared his throat, sending Harry shooting back to reality. He took an abrupt step back, mortified, and ran a hand nervously through his thick curls. Draco, on the other hand, looked awkward but relatively collected, the tips of his pale ears a soft pink.

Harry wasn’t sure if Draco knew he had been thinking of kissing him or if he simply thought that Harry was acting strange. He sorely hoped it was the latter. Despite it having been only a few days since Draco had walked back into his life, he wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

Draco raised his wand, a soft white glow forming at the tip as all of the snow flurries in the air were sucked back into it, leaving the shop pristine and snowflake-free.

“That ought to be better. I could hardly see,” Draco said, laughing lightly.

Harry nodded as he forced a chuckle. “Yeah, I think I should limit the Snowfall Spell to the window display. So, any plans for the rest of the evening?”

Draco snorted. “Unless you count eating dinner with my mother as ‘plans,’ then that would be a very hard no.”

“Oh. Well, I was planning on ordering a takeaway from Preeda’s Curry Court. You’d be welcome to join, if you want,” Harry said, his heart beating loudly against his chest.

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Thank you.”

“Of course. I just need to lock up the shop and then we can head upstairs to my flat. Sound good?” Harry asked.

“Yes, sounds great.”

Harry walked quickly to the front of the shop, letting down the blinds and locking the door before lifting his wand into the air and turning off the train and Christmas tree lights with one smooth flick. Then, once he had scooped Stockinette into his arms and beckoned for Draco to follow him, he headed into the back room and up the stairs, unlocking the door to his flat.

“Alright,” he began, letting Stockinette twist out of grasp, “feel free to have a seat on the couch while I get the menu.”

Draco nodded. “Thanks.”

As quickly as he could, Harry dashed into the kitchen and pulled out the takeaway menu from the junk drawer next to the fridge. As he headed back to the living room, he felt eternally thankful that he’d managed to pick up the dirty laundry and stray shoes that had littered the ground surrounding the couch that morning.

Rounding the corner, he paused in his tracks. There he saw Draco petting Stockinette, who was sprawled across his lap, with great pleasure. Stockinette looked to be having the time of her life, eyes closed and deep purrs emitting from her throat.

“Never pegged you as a cat person,” Harry said, entering the living room and taking a seat next to Draco.

Draco let out a light laugh, his eyes transfixed on Stockinette. “I’m not. _In fact,_ I think that they are absolutely horrid creatures.”

Harry snorted, gesturing to Stockinette. “And yet ―”

“Shut up. No one will know about this,” Draco said, his eyes still glued to Stockinette as he scratched behind her ears.

“Right. _Okay_ ,” Harry said, knowing very well that he would be telling Ron and Hermione the next time he saw them. “Are you ready to order?”

Draco finally looked up, rolling his eyes. “Oh, alright. Menu, please.”

“Just a side note that the yellow curry, lemon chicken, and pad thai are all incredible,” Harry said, handing him the menu.

Draco nodded, peering at the different options. “Duly noted.”

After a minute or two of silence, Draco looked up once again. “I think I’m going to get the pad thai.”

“Sounds good. I’m going to go with the yellow curry,” Harry said, knowing the menu by heart. “Do you want to split a plate of fresh spring rolls?”

Draco shrugged. “Sure.”

“Okay. I’ll place our order, then.”

Once Harry had tapped each item with the tip of his wand, Harry set down the menu on the coffee table before leaning back into the couch.

“I forgot to ask, do you need to write your mum letting her know you won’t be home for dinner?” he asked.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “You do realize I’m twenty-four, right?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Not what I meant, you git.”

“Well, to answer your question ― no, I do _not_ need to inform my mother that I’m having dinner elsewhere,” Draco said.

“Brilliant. So, what have you been up to since the war? Besides the flower arranging, I mean,” Harry asked.

“Really? You’re going right into small talk?” Draco asked, the corners of his mouth tilting upwards.

“Why not? Might as well get caught up, especially if you expect me to divulge all of my top secret knitting hacks,” Harry said, grinning.

“First of all, _you_ were the one who offered _me_ knitting lessons. Second of all … we don’t have to talk about the past, you know,” Draco said quietly.

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “We’re not talking about the past ― well, not _that_ past, anyway. Listen, I’m just curious about what you’ve been doing these past few years. I want to talk about the war about as much as you do. That being said, you’re not obligated to tell me anything.”

“Alright,” Draco said hesitantly. “Well, I wasn’t doing much for about the first year, to be honest ― mostly just putting about the Manor, I suppose. In spring of ‘99 I found a job at Borgin and Burkes, but that only lasted so long. Too many memories.

“It was around then that my mother began to fiddle with the idea of a floral arrangement company. She’s always been an avid gardener. When I was a child, my father would chastise her for not letting the house elves tend to the garden. She never budged, though, insisting that it was her work and hers alone. Since I had nothing better to do, I wound up helping her research how to go about creating the company. The laws were a bit tricky to navigate given her criminal status, but we wound up figuring out how to manage around it.

“It took us about a year to put everything together. The company opened in January of 2001, and customers were very few and far between in the beginning. It wasn’t until Kingsley stumbled upon the company while seeking out a decorator for the Ministry ball held in December that things began to take off, and the rest is history,” Draco said.

“That’s … amazing. I’m so glad your mum’s company has been successful. Did … did she ever tell you about the night of the battle? When she saved me?” Harry asked.

Draco frowned. “Saved you? What the hell are you on about, Potter?”

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t get into it now, but she saved me that night in the Forbidden Forest. If not for her, I wouldn’t be alive,” Harry said.

Draco blinked, taking it in. “Oh.”

Harry cleared his throat, unsure if he should elaborate further or not. After a moment of decidedly awkward silence, he opted for moving on.

“So, what’s the company’s name?” he asked.

“Étoile. It’s French for ‘star,’” Draco said.

“I like it,” Harry said, smiling softly.

“Me too,” Draco said, briefly lifting Stockinette off his lap so he could readjust his position. “It was my nickname as a child. I think it reminds her of happier times.”

“Everyone could use a bit of happiness nowadays,” Harry said.

“Indeed. So, what have you been up to, then? Still with the Girl Weasley?” Draco asked.

Harry let out a soft laugh. “No, Ginny and I broke up shortly after the war. We decided that we were better off as friends. In fact, she and Luna have been together for well over three years now. Word has it that Luna’s bought an engagement ring, and she plans on proposing on New Year’s Day.”

Draco raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Huh. That’s … not what I’d expected.”

“No,” Harry said, snorting, “I imagine not.”

“How did you manage to become the owner of a yarn shop, then?” Draco asked.

Harry hesitated, wondering just how much information he should divulge.

“ … Well, I was pretty sick after the war. Hermione suggested knitting as a way to cope, and I took to it like a house on fire. As I continued to improve with my knitting, I kept getting letters from the Auror Department saying they wanted to hire me. And, well, I just _couldn’t_. I’d spent so long dividing the world into good and evil, and I was done with that. So, I turned them down.

“For years, the only thing I did was knit. Over time, I grew more sociable, and my life started coming together again. I actually didn’t open the shop until last December,” Harry said.

“Wow. I didn’t realize how new the shop is. Well, seems you’ve done pretty well for yourself,” Draco said.

Harry let out a light laugh. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that. Hey, what about your love life? Weren’t you and Parkinson a thing back in school?”

At this, a crimson flush bloomed across Draco’s cheeks, and he waved a hand dismissively in the air. “Oh, for like a month. Just long enough for her to be my date to the Yule Ball.”

“Huh. Well, surely you’ve had someone else in your life,” Harry said.

Draco shrugged. “I did. I was engaged to Astoria Greengrass right after the war. She died a year later.”

Harry frowned, not sure what to say due to both the heartache Draco must’ve felt and his own irrational jealousy.

“I’m ― I’m so sorry, Malfoy,” Harry said softly.

Draco gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Potter. We weren’t in love, which made it easier, I suppose.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t … _in love?_ But you were engaged.”

Draco sighed. “My family isn’t like yours, Potter. We ordinarily don’t get to choose who we marry. My father had arranged the whole ordeal right before the battle, wanting to ensure that I would lead a good, noble life. My parents were lucky when they were engaged, as they happened to actually love one another. Astoria and I, though … we were a different story. There was a fierce friendship between us, but nothing more. Besides, she was in love with someone else.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, averting his eyes. “I didn’t mean to insinuate ―”

“It’s fine, Potter,” Draco snapped before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We just come from two very different worlds, is all.”

Harry let out a heavy breath. “Who was she in love with, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Millicent Bullstrode. Always had been. Millie didn’t sway that way, though, and nothing ever happened between them. In fact, Millie went on to marry Theodore Nott last year. Not that I’ve talked with her, though. Haven’t talked with any of them in years,” Draco said, mumbling the last sentence.

“So, Astoria was …” Harry began.

“A lesbian? Yes. Highly distasteful among our families,” Draco said.

“And you didn’t mind?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head. “I did as a child, but not now. It seems silly to worry over who someone’s attracted to after all that’s happened.”

“Makes sense.”

Before anything more could be said, a sharp tapping pierced the air. Looking towards the living room window, Harry could barely make out the silhouette of an owl carrying a shrunken brown paper bag.

Turning towards Draco, Harry smiled. “Food’s here.”


	6. Andromeda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I hope you're having a great day, and thank you so much for continuing to read! <3
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Wednesday, Dec. 2nd (how is it the last day of November???)

When Harry woke the following morning, he found his mouth full of fur. After taking a moment to gather his surroundings, he realized that Stockinette had spread out on the pillow next to him, her tail lounging across Harry’s lips. He sat up, aggressively combing his tongue with his fingers in an attempt to free it of any rogue hairs. He had little luck.

“ _Stockinette_ ,” Harry muttered as he peeled back the duvet and stood up.

Stockinette promptly stretched further, taking up a seemingly impossible amount of room for such a petite cat.

Rolling his eyes, Harry stocked off to the bathroom to take a quick shower before work. He savored the hot water flowing over him, his muscles stiff from the frigid morning air, and took his time lathering himself with an orange and cinnamon liquid body soap.

After washing his hair twice, he decided he’d stalled enough, begrudgingly turning off the shower head. As soon as he stepped out, he was hit with a wave of bitterly cold air, and his wet skin immediately broke out in goosebumps. Once he’d scurried to wrap himself in a towel, he quickly cast a warming charm, bringing instant relief.

For the next thirty minutes, Harry went about drying himself off and getting dressed, picking out one of his favorite outfits: a deep purple jumper with a cream colored yoke in the pattern of snitches that Hermione had knit him several years ago, dark denim jeans, and a pair of black high top Chuck Taylors. After adding his round, wire rimmed glasses as a last touch, he managed to coax Stockinette into the kitchen with the promise of food.

Just as Harry had taken a seat at the kitchen table with a bowl of Frosted Flakes, he heard a soft rapping on the living room window. Startled, he stood up and wandered into the room, finding himself looking at Colette hovering outside the window. Harry’s curiosity was immediately struck, wondering why Draco would be writing to him when they’d planned to see each other for knitting lessons that night.

After ushering Colette inside, he took the neatly rolled parchment paper from her ankle and began reading.

_Potter,_

_I’m sorry to inform you that I won’t be able to make it to my knitting lessons this evening. My mother just received a rather large order that must be finished by tomorrow morning, so, as you can imagine, we’re in a bit of a scramble._

_I hope this isn’t too inconvenient. If you’re able to, I’d like to reschedule for tomorrow evening. Anytime works for me._

_D.M._

As Harry took in Draco’s words, his heart began to sink. Ever since they’d planned to meet up last night, it was all he’d been thinking about. There was something so ridiculously charming about watching Draco desperately try to grasp different concepts and techniques, and knowing that he’d have to wait another day and a half sent a sharp pang of disappointment through his chest.

After scrawling out a quick note saying it wasn’t an issue and that tomorrow would work perfectly fine, Harry resumed scarfing down his bowl of cereal and cup of coffee. Casting a _Tempus_ , he realized he was running a little later than he’d like to and scurried to collect his things.

Five minutes later, he slung his satchel over his shoulder and picked up a protesting Stockinette before making his way down the stairs and into the back room of the shop. Then, he went about setting everything up as quickly as possible, opening the front blinds, unlocking the door, turning on the Christmas tree and toy train, casting the Snowfall Charm in the front window, and putting on holiday tracks that began with Andy Williams’ _It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year_.

As soon as the clock signaled that it was opening time, Mrs. Van Ness barged through the door.

Harry knew he was going to be in for a long day.

☙☙☙

By the time lunch rolled around, Harry was in a far better mood, having found that helping customers did always manage to cheer him up. As he hung up the sign in the front window reading _Gone to lunch! Will re-open at one o’clock_ , he racked his brain for something to do that evening to take his mind off the absence of Draco.

After several minutes of sifting through ideas, he finally settled on something that would be both productive and fun.

He hadn’t seen Andromeda and Teddy in a little over a month, and a visit was very much overdue. Harry grabbed a sheet of parchment from the check-out counter and began to write, hoping that Andromeda would be available.

_Hi Andy,_

_I’m so sorry I haven’t been around sooner. Business has been crazy, especially with Christmas rapidly approaching. However, I’m free after work tonight. Are you up for a visit around 5:30?_

_Harry_

Once content with his letter, Harry pulled on his winter coat and headed out of the shop. Although the cobblestoned street was dry, the dark clouds above were heavy with rain, threatening to unleash a violent downpour at any moment. Harry picked up his pace, hoping to not get caught in the inevitable storm.

Reaching the owlery, Harry paid the wizard behind the desk and handed him the letter before disappearing back into the cold winter air. It was busier than he’d expected, people flowing in and out of shops. He could see a particularly large crowd in Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlor, people no doubt wanting something warm and sweet to drink.

By the time he made it back to the shop, the rain had just begun to come down, falling to the ground in heavy sheets. After casting a Hot-Air Charm, he peeled off his coat and hung it up, grateful to be back in the warmth of the shop. The radiator had been working for the past few days, which had been a miracle in itself, and Harry hoped to Merlin that his luck would last.

As he munched on a package of pretzels that he’d stored in the checkout counter, he found himself staring at the clock, counting the hours until he’d see Teddy and Andromeda.

☙☙☙

A few hours later, he received a letter from Andromeda.

_Harry,_

_Yes, please come over this evening! Teddy has been talking nonstop about seeing you again. He’s even named one of his dolls after you. I hope lemon marinated salmon and oven roasted potatoes sound alright._

_See you soon,_

_Andy x_

☙☙☙

As soon as it was time to close up the shop, Harry hurried to lock things up before dashing upstairs. Once he’d fed Stockinette dinner, grabbed a bottle of unopened wine from the kitchen counter, and packed his half-knitted jumper, he stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames.

A moment later, he stepped out into Andromeda’s spacious living room. Fairy coloring books littered the carpet, as did a few plastic horses and other various animals. Careful to navigate his way around them, Harry made his way towards the hallway that led to the bedrooms.

“Andy, I’m here!” he shouted.

“Hi, Harry! Just changing Teddy’s shirt. We had a little chocolate milk accident,” Andromeda said, her voice coming from the direction of Teddy’s room.

“Take your time!”

Wandering into the kitchen, which was only separated from the living room by a marble island, Harry set the wine down on the counter. Then, he settled onto the couch and waited.

A few minutes later, Teddy with his bright turquoise hair emerged from the hallway, followed by Andromeda. Despite it having been several years since Harry had gotten to know Andromeda, he always managed to be surprised at how much she looked like Bellatrix Lestrange. They both had the same wild corkscrew curls, although Andromeda’s were a dark brown instead of jet black, and their eyes were the same shade of cool brown.

Teddy, on the other hand, looked alarmingly like Remus, a light dusting of freckles covering his golden skin and bright hazel eyes sitting a bit wider apart than was typical. However, his smile was all Tonks, toothy and lopsided.

Teddy immediately ran over to Harry, who stood up and enveloped him in a fierce hug, lifting him up and swinging him in a circle before setting him down. He then greeted Andromeda, giving her a tight squeeze before briefly kissing her cheek.

“Merlin, you’re a sight for sore eyes. We’ve missed you around here,” Andromeda said, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling as she smiled warmly.

“I’ve missed you both too. I’m truly sorry I haven’t gotten over here sooner,” Harry said sheepishly.

“Oh, don’t be, darling. You must be swamped with the shop. Now, I just need to check on the salmon. Be right back,” Andromeda said before heading into the kitchen.

Harry turned to Teddy, who had plopped on the floor and was clutching a doll with deep brown skin and black ringlets.

“Harry! It’s you!” Teddy said enthusiastically, showing off the doll.

Harry couldn’t help but smile, touched at how much Teddy cared for him. “Granny told me you named one of your dolls after me. Is that him?”

Teddy nodded. “Yeah! I brought him to school yesterday, and all my friends wanted to play with him.”

“That’s amazing, Ted. Did you share?” Harry asked.

“I shared a lot. I was _very_ nice,” Teddy said enthusiastically.

Harry let out a light laugh. “Good job.”

After a few minutes of listening to Teddy explain his Crayola crayons coloring methods, Andromeda walked back into the room, two filled wine glasses in hand, and sat down on the couch next to Harry.

“Alright, salmon is done and the potatoes are now in the oven. Thank you for the wine, by the way. It smells lovely,” Andromeda said before taking a small sip. "So, how’s everything?”

“Everything is pretty good. The shop is incredibly popular at the moment, so business is booming. Actually, though, something interesting has happened lately. Draco has been coming around the shop, and I’ve begun teaching him how to knit,” Harry said.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “Draco? As in my nephew?”

Harry nodded.

“Very interesting,” Andromeda said softly, leaning into the back of the couch. “Merlin, I haven’t seen Draco in years ― not since he was four or five, I suppose. What’s he like?”

Harry grinned to himself, remembering the way that Draco’s face lit up while they were decorating the shop. “He’s a lot tamer, I think. He doesn’t seem quite so hard around the edges. At school, he was nothing but a pompous git that nobody ― especially me ― could stand. Now, though … now, he’s _different_. I think he just wants nothing more than to fit in, you know? Settle down, make friends, establish a routine.”

Absently tracing the stem of her wine glass with the tip of her index finger, Andromeda said, “it’s difficult to imagine a softer version of Draco. Even as a young child, he had a fierce temper and an even fiercer allegiance to his parents.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, letting out a light laugh, “he was a handful, especially at eleven. Merlin, he used to be so glued to his prejudices.”

Andromeda let out a heavy sigh, briefly closing her eyes. “You know, I just can’t find it in myself to fault Draco. Being brought up in such a harsh way … well, you know the effects it left on both Sirius and myself. I don’t blame him for having been horrible, no matter how much I want to. I suppose I can’t help but wonder if that’s how I would have ended up ― so young and so angry ― had things been different.”

Harry nodded solemnly. “Yeah. I know.”

“Narcissa would sneak off to visit me after I married Ted, bringing Draco along when he was born,” Andromeda said, leaning into the back of the couch. “She was the only one who missed me, I suppose. And each visit, for a few hours, the both of us were able to forget everything: my disownment, the war, her involvement with Voldemort. It was as though everything just fell away.”

Harry sighed, his heart breaking at the sheer amount of pain sitting behind Andromeda’s eyes, and he couldn’t help but think of Sirius. After all, he’d had that same wily streak in him, determined to give his family hell for their foolish beliefs.

“I’m so sorry, Andy. Did you see Draco and Narcissa often?” Harry asked.

“At the beginning, yes,” Andromeda said, enveloping her arms around Teddy as he hopped up from the floor and crawled into her lap. “I was disowned by my family in 1972 when I announced my engagement to Ted, and Narcissa would visit me regularly for the first few years. However, by the time Draco was born, the visits had slowly begun to dwindle, and she only managed to make it over here once or twice a year. Then, the visits stopped altogether. I’ve always had a hunch that it was Lucius’ doing, but this is all speculation. Who knows, maybe he didn’t even know about the visits.”

“Have you ever thought about reconnecting with Narcissa?” Harry asked, a spark of inspiration igniting inside him. “You know, I could always talk to Malfoy about arranging a visit ―”

“I’ve ruled out the possibility, Harry,” Andromeda said, her voice breaking as tears threatened to spill over. “I doubt Cissy wants to see me, especially after everything that’s happened, and I don’t want to pressure her into healing wounds that she isn’t ready to. Plus, too much time has passed for us to ever reconcile, and I’ve accepted that. I’ve got Teddy now ― and you of course, love ― and that’s all that matters.”

“But Andy, you don’t _know_ that Narcissa doesn’t want to see you. Let yourself imagine having a relationship with her again ― and Draco too, for that matter. You could get to know them how they are now, not as who they were nineteen years ago. I haven’t seen Narcissa since the trials, so I can’t speak for her as of now, but I do know that she saved me when it mattered most, and that’s something that I can’t ignore. And as for Draco, he’s not the same bully I went to school with. He’s softer now, although he’s still an a ―” Harry paused, remembering that Teddy was in the room, “a _bum_. Listen, they’re the only family you’ve got left. Aren’t they worth it?”

Andromeda grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table, dabbing at the tears streaming down her face as she said, “it’s not that, Harry. They’re beyond worth it, which is why I’m too scared to reach out. I don’t want to feel the loss all over again. I’ve worked too many years to stuff it down.”

“Granny,” Teddy said, reaching up to cup Andromeda’s cheek, “you’re crying. Do you have an ouchie?”

Andromeda gave a small laugh, and she mussed his hair. “No, sweetheart, Granny doesn’t have an ouchie.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Well,” Andromeda said, pausing to blow her nose before saying, “people sometimes hurt on the inside, like when they get their feelings hurt or miss someone a lot. It’s like having an ouchie on your heart.”

Teddy frowned. “Who hurt your feelings? I’ll tell them to say sorry.”

“Someone that you don’t know, love.”

“Oh.”

Andromeda kissed Teddy on the cheek before looking back to Harry, a sad smile on her lips. “Now, enough about the Black antics. Tell me more about what you’ve been up to in the past month. Have you taken a fancy to anyone?”

Harry raised his eyebrows, surprised at the question. Although he’d been very open with Andromeda about his interest in both men and women, he wasn’t exactly comfortable telling her about the fact that he fancied her nephew. Not yet, anyway.

“Um, well … there _is_ this one bloke who keeps wandering into my store,” he said, biting his lip in anxiety.

“Oh!” Andromeda said, clasping her hands together in excitement. “Tell me all about him, then! Is he your age? What does he look like?"

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the berate of questions, racking his brain for ways to tell the truth without outright lying. “Yeah, he’s around my age, and he’s taller than me by about three inches. He’s got the _softest_ looking blond hair, and his eyes are a deep grey ―”

“So,” Andromeda said, grinning as she interrupted, “you’re essentially telling me that this young man is fit?”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

Andromeda quirked an eyebrow. “Do you know if he’s also into men?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” Harry said, sighing as he leaned into the back of the couch, “and I can’t exactly go up to him and say, ‘hey, two questions. One, are you queer? And two, want to go on a date with me?’ while he’s shopping for yarn.”

Andromeda snorted. “I see your point.”

Before Harry could reply, the oven timer began to chirp and Andromeda stood up from the couch.

“Alright, salmon should be done. You can tell me more about this mystery man over dinner. Now, come help me set the table, you two.”

As Harry stood, coaxing a pouting Teddy into the kitchen and towards the silverware drawer, he found himself staring at the dining room table, longing for two more seats to be filled.


	7. Ribbing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're officially halfway done (although I've still yet to finish the last two chapters lmao)! 
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Friday, Dec. 4th

Harry stared at the oven’s digital clock, pondering how he was going to make it through an entire knitting lesson without making it completely and utterly obvious that he was head-over-heels for Draco. As he took turns stirring the risotto and glancing at the clock, he found that he was making himself dizzy with excitement and was forced to remind himself that this was, in fact, not a date ― nothing near it, really. Just a knitting lesson and some dinner. That was it.

Except that Harry didn’t want that to be it. He wanted so desperately for Draco to be coming over to his flat for a nice, romantic evening filled with dinner, drinks, and cuddling under one of the many knitted blankets Molly had made for him over the years. He yearned for the ability to look at Draco and know that he was cared for.

It had been a long while since Harry had kissed anyone, instead spending his years recovering and working on himself. However, for the past year, he’d found himself hopelessly chasing the idea of being swept up in a whirlwind romance, dreaming endlessly of the idea of love. And now that it was Christmastime, the world seemed to possess just a fraction more magic than usual, making it all seem so irresistible.

A loud poof coming from the direction of the living room alerted him that he was no longer alone with his thoughts.

“I’m in here! Can’t leave the risotto!” Harry shouted, his pulse racing.

He heard light footsteps approaching and then, “Well, Potter, I didn’t know you could cook.”

Harry looked up from the stove and was met with a smirking Draco. He looked just as smart as usual, a dark red collared shirt tucked neatly into charcoal colored trousers and a wool coat, and Harry immediately got the impression that he was underdressed, despite knowing that this was a casual occasion. However, he couldn’t help but look down at his own outfit, a deep brown turtleneck and form-fitting jeans with a hole in the right knee, with self-consciousness.

“Yes, I _cook_ ,” Harry said, finally gathering his thoughts. “In fact, I’ve been told I’m an excellent chef. Also, I didn’t know you wore red.”

Draco briefly glanced at his shirt, snorting. “Oh _please_ , Potter. We’re not schoolboys anymore. Red does not inherently equal Gryffindor.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Well, okay, _yes_ ,” Draco began, his cheeks going the color of his shirt, “red does still equal Gryffindor. However, I’m trying to branch out.”

Harry bit his bottom lip in an attempt to hide his grin. “Some real character development going on, I see.”

“Piss off. Now, how long until dinner? I’m famished,” Draco said as he stripped off his coat and levitated it to the coat rack in the entryway.

“I only need to add one more round of chicken stock, so ten minutes? You don’t have to stay in here if you don’t want to, though,” Harry said.

“No, it’s fine. Can I help you with anything?” Draco asked.

“Actually yeah,” Harry said, handing him the liquid glass measuring cup. “Could you reheat the chicken stock in the microwave for a minute?”

Draco’s face went blank as he took the measuring cup. “Well, I would, but I don’t know what the hell a microwank is or how to use it.”

Harry let out a bark of laughter. “ _Microwave_ , and that’s fine. I’ll heat up the stock if you stir the risotto, then.”

They quickly switched positions, Draco taking the wooden spoon while Harry popped the measuring cup into the microwave, and then they went to work.

After ten minutes of polite chatter passed, the risotto had finished cooking, and Harry led Draco to the dining table. Stockinette decided to join them as they took their seats, circling around Draco’s chair and eventually curling up at his feet.

“So, what do you think?” Harry asked as Draco took his first bite.

After a moment of thought, Draco swallowed and said, “It’s surprisingly good.”

Harry grinned, feeling content. “See! I told you I’m a good cook.”

“Stroke of luck,” Draco said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Harry rolled his eyes. “So, how did your mum’s big order go?”

Draco let out a long sigh. “It went well overall, although it left Mother frantic. A woman who works at the Ministry ordered five-hundred white roses for her daughter’s seventeenth birthday, which was today. Why this woman thought that putting an order that large in only twenty-four hours in advance was socially acceptable is beyond me, but … Anyway, once we’d managed to transfigure our entire stock of roses into white, we began to put together the different arrangements that the woman had ordered ― bouquets, wreaths, sculptures, the whole lot. We didn’t finish until one a.m. Then, this morning, we had to transfer all of the arrangements to the woman’s house and set all of it up around the dining hall. Needless to say, my mother and I are both a little tired.”

“I’ll bet,” Harry said, laughing. “I hope you don’t have anymore orders like that anytime soon.”

Draco shook his head. “No, we’ll have plenty. December is always our busiest month, with the Winter Ball, business parties, get-togethers. We’re always worn out by the time New Year’s comes around.”

“Merlin. Well, if you need an extra set of hands, I’d be happy to help,” Harry said, smiling.

“Thank you, Potter.”

Harry swore he saw Draco smile back.

☙☙☙

Forty-five minutes later, Harry and Draco moved to the couch in the living room, Stockinette following them. As they settled, both of them picking up their project bags from the coffee table, Harry felt a well of excitement inside his chest. Seeing Draco knit had rapidly become one of the highlights of his days.

He watched as Draco pulled his scarf, if one could call it that, out of his project bag and lay it out across his lap. Harry tried to mask his look of horror as he took in the uneven rows of bright orange yarn and the multitude of dropped stitches. Silently, he admitted that even _he_ wasn’t that bad when he first started off.

Unfortunately, he found it oddly endearing.

Clearing his throat, Harry began, “so, Malfoy … I see you have some dropped stitches. Do you want any help ―”

“No, Potter,” Draco snapped. “I’m fine.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? There’s no shame in asking for help, you know.”

Draco looked up, scowling. “Well, good thing I’m not _asking_ for help.”

“For Merlin’s sake,” Harry muttered under his breath, turning back to his own work.

During their years at Hogwarts, Hermione has always told him to pick his battles when it came to Draco. Not that he ever listened. However, as he went about starting a new row, he realized that he decidedly did not want to spend his evening fighting over dropped stitches.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry looked up and realized that Draco was staring at the jumper on his needles.

“Are you okay, Malfoy? Do you need something ―?"

“What did you do to make the collar of your jumper look different from the body?” Draco asked.

Harry looked down, realizing what he was talking about. “Oh! That’s called ribbing, and it’s a technique that’s used for things like necklines, hat brims, and sleeve cuffs. You know how you’re making your scarf using the basic knit stitch?”

Draco nodded.

“Well, to create ribbing you use a knit stitch and a purl stitch, which is just another basic stitch. Sometimes the pattern will say ‘knit one, purl one,’ and other times, like with the neckline of my jumper, it’ll tell you to ‘knit two, purl two.’ I’ll teach you how to purl as soon as you finish your scarf,” Harry said.

“Huh. I didn’t know there was another basic stitch,” Draco said, pursing his lips in thought.

“Yeah. Well, they say you can knit anything as long as you’ve got the knit stitch and the purl stitch down,” Harry said, grinning.

“How long are our lessons going to continue?” Draco asked.

“Until you get the hang of things and feel comfortable on your own,” Harry said, pausing to lean down and pet Stockinette, who was sprawled across the ground. “There’s no rush, though. I mean, _Merlin_ , it took me forever to finally feel as though I was capable without Hermione’s supervision. As frustrating as it is, knitting is something that takes a lot of time and patience.”

“Very interesting, considering you have none of the latter,” Draco said smugly.

“Oi!” Harry said, chuckling. “I’ll have you know that I’ve grown into a very patient adult.”

Draco snorted. “Ah yes, says the same man who accused me of being the heir to Slytherin without waiting to find any actual proof.”

“Well, actually …” Harry began, heat blooming across his cheeks, “we did try to find proof. We just, well, never could find any.”

Draco raised his eyebrows as curiosity set in behind his eyes. “And how, pray tell, did you try to find proof?”

“Um, well, we decided that it would be best to go to the source, so Hermione brewed Polyjuice Potion and then Ron and I disguised ourselves as Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin common room,” Harry said meekly, staring at the wool in his hands.

After a moment of silence, an abrupt bark of laughter caused him to look up. Draco was laughing so hard that his entire upper body was rippling, and there were tears in his eyes. Eventually, Harry couldn’t help but join in, his stomach hurting from a combination of deep giggling and violent waves of butterflies at the sight of seeing Draco so relaxed.

“You’re telling me,” Draco wheezed, “that eleven-year-old you was so determined to convict me that you brewed Polyjuice Potion and snuck into the common room as my bloody best friends.”

“Listen, you were a suspicious little twat,” Harry said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Did you and Weasley talk to me?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. In fact, you were the one who led us into the common room after we had a run in with Percy Weasley as Crabbe and Goyle. You told us that you wished you knew who the heir was, so we figured we could rule you out then.”

“Merlin, did I say anything else?” Draco asked.

Harry swallowed thickly, the conversation suddenly turning somber. “You said that you hoped Hermione would be killed.”

A thick silence fell over the room, and Harry watched as Draco ducked his head, absently picking at a dropped stitch. He could see the shame in Draco’s face, his cheeks blotchy from embarrassment.

Eventually, Harry was the one who broke the silence.

“Hey, you’re a different person now,” he said quietly.

“How do you know that I’m different, Potter?” Draco spat. “You know nothing about me.”

Harry recoiled at the venom in his voice before steadying himself. “That’s not true, Malfoy. I can see that you’re doing everything you can to move on from who you were as a child, and I know that you wish you could undo things. I saw you apologize to Hermione and Ron, remember? If you hadn’t changed, you wouldn’t have explained to them how sorry you are.”

Draco sighed heavily. “It’s hard living with myself sometimes.”

Taking a leap of faith, Harry reached over and took Draco’s hand in his own. “I can’t imagine how tough everything must be on you, but just know that you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

Draco let out a bark of dry laughter. “What, are you suggesting that I spill all of my dark secrets to you, my knitting instructor?”

Harry glanced down, embarrassment rising in his chest as he let go of Draco’s hand. “Well, I don’t know. I thought we were maybe becoming friends.”

After a moment of silence, Harry had just begun to accept that he’d ruined the night by saying such a thing when Draco spoke.

“I suppose you’re right.”

Harry looked up only to find Draco smiling softly at him.

“Really?” he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, Potter. Really. Although don’t let this go to your head. You’re still a wanker.”

Harry snorted. “And you’re still a pompous arse.”

They continued to chat and knit for another hour and a half, Draco occasionally taking a break to scratch Stockinette, who had hopped onto the couch and settled in at his side. All the while, Harry couldn’t help but churn the idea of domesticity over in his mind. Despite Draco having only come over to Harry’s flat a few times, it already felt like a comfortable routine that he didn’t want to end.

After a gentle lull had occurred in the conversation, Harry decided to bring up a subject that was entering dangerous territory.

“Do you remember Andromeda?”

Draco looked up, blinking at him. “My aunt?”

Harry nodded.

Draco frowned. “I remember visiting her as a child, although the memories are a bit blurry. She would always put out cauldron cakes for me. Why?”

“I visit her a lot, since Teddy is my godson. I saw them yesterday, and we got to talking about how she wants to build a relationship with you and your mum but is too afraid to go about it. I was wondering if you had any interest in doing the same,” Harry said.

“Oh. Well, I think Mother missed her. She’ll sometimes tell me stories from her childhood while we make flower arrangements, and she always seems to talk about Aunt Andromeda with fondness. I think they were rather close when they were younger,” Draco said.

“That’s the impression I got too. Anyway, I thought it might be worth mentioning.”

Draco nodded. “I’d be open to meeting with her and Teddy, although I think Mother would take it best hearing it from you. Would you be up for writing her a letter explaining the situation?”

“Sure. I can send it off tonight.”

“Okay, good. What … what’s she like? And Teddy?”

Harry grinned, remembering Teddy’s doll. “Andy’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, which is remarkable considering what she’s been through. She’s got this fierceness to her ― something that reminds me a lot of Sirius ― and she’s hilarious. I know Ted, Tonks, and Remus’ deaths really hit her hard, so some days are worse for her than others. Overall, though, she’s doing pretty well, albeit a bit lonely.

“As for Teddy, he’s six and curious about _everything_. He’s currently obsessed with dolls and coloring books, and he’s a ball of energy. He’s a Metamorphmagus, just like Tonks, so his hair is frequently changing color, although he’s recently been sticking with blues and greens.”

“And you think I’d get on with both of them?” Draco asked hesitantly.

“Oh, I think you’d get on like a house on fire.”

Draco sighed as he set down his knitting and placed Stockinette in his lap. “Alright. I’m on board.”

Harry beamed. “Brilliant.”

☙☙☙

As soon as Draco left an hour later, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment and a black gel pen, not bothered to go to the trouble of using a quill, and began scribbling a note to Narcissa.

_Mrs. Malfoy,_

_I realize this is a bit out of the blue, but I’d like to start off by saying thank you for all that you did during the night of the battle, as I’ve never had the chance to properly explain how much it meant to me. I firmly believe that without you I wouldn’t be here. There were many heroic and brave souls that night, and you were one of them. Thank you._

_Now, onto the main point. I’ve grown fairly close with your sister, Andromeda, and her grandson Teddy. I saw her yesterday and we got to talking about the visits you used to make to her after she was disowned. She misses you and Draco terribly, and I know for certain that she wants to mend the relationships, although she’s too scared to do so on her own._

_I suppose I’m wondering if you’ve been wanting the same thing. I already talked to Draco about it, and he seemed to agree that it would be a good idea, especially as they’re your only living relatives left._

_Please let me know if this is something that would interest you, as I’d be happy to arrange a reunion._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

_P.S. I think you and Draco would love Teddy._


	8. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I'm just going to say THANK YOU for the amazing support you've provided me while uploading TWWW. It means the world to me, and I'm so happy knowing that so many of you are enjoying it - especially the mental health and crafting aspect <3 I hope all of you are doing well and staying safe! Happy Friday!
> 
> Next chapter upload: Sunday, Dec. 6th

As Fridays were the one day a week where the Whomping Willow Woolery was closed, Harry spent the morning unpacking several shipments of wool, skein winders, pattern books, and handy bits and bobs that made knitting just a little easier. It took him an hour to go through the first large cardboard box, getting lost in Fariza Hatterman’s new shawl book. The patterns were stunning, mosaic patterns craftily wound into crescent, square, triangle, and circle segment shapes, and Harry couldn’t stop himself from daydreaming of making them. However, reality hit like a freight train as he abruptly remembered the sheer amount of projects he had currently going on, causing him to begrudgingly close the book and move onto the next cardboard box.

By the time noon rolled around, Harry had squared away most of the new inventory and had pulled a chair to the front of the shop, watching a thunderstorm roll in across the bruised sky as he worked on his gloves.

Over the years, Harry had developed the ability to knit without looking, only glancing down when concentration was necessary. He’d managed to teach himself how to do it during the long wave of recovery, determined to watch television and knit at the same time. Every time he was invited over for a movie night at the Granger-Weasley flat, Hermione would wind up shooting him jealous daggers. It was something that Harry took pride in, especially since it was one of the few things he was able to do that Hermione couldn’t execute no matter how hard she tried.

This trick proved to be especially useful when people watching, which was a common practice on Friday afternoons. There was something oddly calming about watching passersby wander through Diagon Alley, occasionally pointing towards the Whomping Willow Woolery with bright grins on their faces.

As Harry watched a large number of people pass by with bulging shopping bags, he was reminded of the fact that he desperately needed to begin thinking about Christmas presents for everyone. Hermione was easy ― books reliably left her overjoyed. The Weasley clan was a bit more difficult, although Harry knew that Bill and Fleur had been looking into taking Victoire to the Muggle cinema for the first time, so perhaps surprising them with fully funded tickets would be a good gift. Molly was in need of a new sewing machine, and Arthur had struck a curiosity for Muggle cameras, so those were daily straightforward purchases. Charlie, George, and Percy were mysteries, so Harry knew he’d need to do some poking around to find out what they wanted. As for Ron, he knew that Hermione was knitting him a hat, so that was out of the question. However, as he mulled the idea of a hat over, he realized that a knitted beanie would look particularly lovely on Draco.

Glancing at one of the cubby holes filled with fingering yarn, he stood up and wandered over to it. He’d seen a new beanie pattern floating around the knitting community that he was dying to try out. It was called Grá, and it was made of stranded colorwork, creating rows of flowers, leaves, and diamonds around the beanie. He knew he’d need three skeins for it, so he began to poke and prod his way through the neatly stacked skeins, searching for colors that would suit Draco.

Eventually, he came across a navy blue, cream, and pastel lavender. Picking them up, he wandered to the check-out counter and stashed them in one of the drawers. Just as he was resuming his people watching position, he saw a familiar face peeking into the window.

Draco was looking around, his eyes finally landing on Harry. They exchanged a brief smile, and Harry beckoned him inside. As Draco entered the shop, the small bell above the door went off, and Harry sighed with content at the fact that he had stopped by for a visit.

However, he was taken aback when he saw the large poinsettia plant that Draco was carrying.

“Hey,” Harry said, standing up from his seat. “What’s that?”

“Hi,” Draco said, glancing around the shop. “My mother got your letter, and she insisted I bring this as a thank you along with her response. Wow, this is the emptiest I’ve ever seen the shop during the day.”

Harry let out a light laugh. “Well, that’s because I’m closed on Fridays.”

Crimson bloomed across Draco’s face, a look of panic in his eyes as he set the poinsettia down on the check-out counter. “Oh Merlin, I’m sorry Potter. I didn’t realize. I can come back tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“No, no,” Harry said. “Stay. I was just thinking of spending the afternoon wandering around the shops, and I’d love your company.”

Draco gave a hesitant nod. “Alright.”

“And how does a hot chocolate or Butterbeer sound?”

“Lovely, although would you mind casting a Disillusionment Charm on me? I’m not in the mood to get stared at today,” Draco said bitterly.

Harry nodded, his heart twisting. “Yeah, of course.”

“Before we go, you should read this,” Draco said, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out an envelope.

Harry took it with a burst of nervousness, wondering what Narcissa would say to the idea of meeting up with Andromeda and Teddy.

Quickly opening the envelope and unfolding the parchment, he began to read.

_Mr. Potter,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Draco has been talking nonstop about you and your shop ever since he’s begun his daily visits. Seeing you gives him something to do, and I think it’s doing wonders for him. So, thank you._

_As for the night of the battle, there’s no need to thank me. You let me know that Draco was safe, and that in itself is priceless. However, I was glad to help. It’s the one thing I’m proud of from that night._

_I’ll admit that the idea of reconciling with Andromeda is very tempting. We were incredibly close as children. She was my idol. When she was disowned for getting engaged to Ted, I couldn’t bear the idea of losing her. Those secret visits were our escape from everything going on, and they gave me hope for a better future. I never had the chance to tell Andromeda why my visits stopped, so perhaps you can relay the information back to her._

_I had been incredibly careful to not let Lucius know what Draco and I were up to. I’d always plan visits when he would be going out, and I had a steady system in place. However, Lucius discovered my secret visits in 1985. I thought he had left for Knockturn Alley already, so I was getting Draco ready to go. When Lucius came up to our bedroom to grab his wand, which he’d forgotten, he immediately became suspicious. His first thought was that I was sneaking out to have an affair, which I adamantly denied. However, he wouldn’t believe me, and he kept threatening divorce. I tried coming up with different excuses, saying that I was taking Draco to visit my mother, but it was useless. Lucius was in a fit of fury, and I concluded that the only way out was telling the truth. I explained that I’d been secretly visiting Andromeda for years. I think the only reason he believed me was because of how upset I was over it. After consoling me, he informed me that I was no longer allowed to see Andromeda and that he would know if I did._

_Please don’t judge me on giving in so easily, Mr. Potter. While I still love my husband dearly, he was a very tough man to live with. He had a way with intimidation._

_Anyway, it’s been nineteen years since I last saw Andromeda. I’m worried too much time has passed for things to be healed between us. However, if you tell me otherwise, I will agree to a visit with her and Teddy._

_All the best,_

_Narcissa Malfoy_

Harry glanced up and saw that Draco was staring at him.

“Well?” he asked.

Harry cleared his throat and handed the letter over to Draco for him to read. After a minute or two, Draco let out a heavy sigh and gave the letter back.

“Well, it would appear that Mother is on board,” Draco said. “And just so you know, the only time I mention you is when I’m complaining about what a git you are.”

Harry snorted, although a ripple of butterflies shot through his stomach. “ _Sure_ , Malfoy. Anyway, Merlin. It must have been so difficult to stop seeing Andromeda.”

“Yes, well, no one says no to Father,” Draco muttered. “If you write Andromeda and my mother tonight, then surely we’ll be able to pick a day for the visit tomorrow.”

Harry smirked. “Already planning on coming tomorrow?"

Draco rolled his eyes. “Piss off.”

“Do you know about the Christmas craft fair happening tomorrow night?” Harry asked.

Draco shook his head.

“Well, I donated Grimmauld Place, Sirius’ childhood home, to charity a few years ago. A painter named Amber Zhao is in charge of running the home and keeping it in shape for various charity functions, so she came up with the idea of holding a Christmas craft fair there. The ticket proceeds go to several wizarding charities, and all money from art purchases go directly to the artists themselves. It’s been running for about four years now, and it’s incredible. There’s every type of craft imaginable: paintings, photography, sculptures, pottery, jewelry, artisan soaps, blown glass, and the list goes on. The fair starts tomorrow and goes until Monday. I’m going with Ron and Hermione, but I’d love it if you could join us, and I’m sure they’d feel the same way,” Harry said.

Draco was silent for a moment before saying, “Alright. Where should I meet you, and what time?”

“You can go ahead and come here at four. We’re going to use my Floo to get there,” Harry said.

“Sounds good.”

“Alright, are you ready to get going?” Harry asked.

“Sure.”

Raising his wand, Harry cast the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm. After a moment of rearranging, Draco’s face looked similar yet slightly off. His eyes were no longer a deep grey but instead a bright blue, and his now shoulder-length hair was a much darker shade of blond. His nose, which was ordinarily long and thin by all accounts, had morphed into a button shape, giving him the illusion that he was an entirely different person altogether.

Harry quickly cast the same spell on his scar, which vanished.

“Ready?” he asked.

Draco nodded. “Yes”

After locking up the shop, Harry looked towards the sky, which was threatening to unload a heavy wave of rain. The day was cold and wet, and the bitter wind blowing from the north bit at Harry’s skin. Frowning at the chill in the air, he led Draco in the direction of Florean Fortescue’s Ice-Cream Parlor.

Once they’d queued up, Harry squinted at the menu, raking his eyes over the long list of flavored hot chocolates. He’d tried the majority of them at this point, although there were still a few that he had yet to indulge in. After a moment of contemplation, he landed on the hazelnut hot chocolate.

“What are you getting?” he asked.

Draco pursed his lips in thought. “I might try the raspberry hot chocolate.”

“Oh, I can vouch for that one. It’s amazing,” Harry said, grinning.

After they ordered, Amelia having been nothing but pleasant towards a disguised Draco, they received their drinks and then headed back into the numbing afternoon. Harry wrapped his shawl tighter around his exposed neck, desperate for some semblance of warmth. Luckily, the hot chocolate was charmed to remain at the perfect temperature, warming his insides without being too hot.

“Where to first?” Harry asked.

“Want to pop into Broomstix? I’ve been dying to see the new broom that was released in November,” Draco said.

“Sure.”

After walking past Eyelops Owl Emporium, briefly pausing to take a look through the frosty window, they entered Broomstix. Harry let out a sigh of relief, the warmth of the shop pricking at his half-numb extremities.

Draco immediately walked to the front window display. There, suspended in mid air, was the sleekest broom Harry had ever seen. The walnut colored wood was polished to the point where Harry could see his reflection in it, and the bristles that made up the tail end of the broom were neatly arranged to a point.

Looking over, Draco’s eyes were wide with wonder as he gently ran his slender fingers over the broom handle.

“It’s gorgeous,” he murmured.

“What’s it called?” Harry asked. “I’ve fallen completely out of the Quidditch loop.”

“The Celer One-Thousand. Fastest broom of its kind. No one’s ever seen anything like it,” Draco said, mesmerized.

“It’s beautiful,” Harry said. “Do you miss flying?”

Draco sighed, finally breaking eye contact with the broom. “Some days more than others, but yes. There was nothing quite like playing a Quidditch match at Hogwarts.”

Harry let out a low chuckle. “Agreed. I truly miss beating your arse.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, I _let_ you win. I didn’t want to damage your superiority complex.”

“Oh, is that what it was?” Harry said, laughing. “Alright. Do you still have your broom?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“How does a Quidditch match sound? Just you and me, a week from tomorrow evening,” Harry said, smirking.

“You’re on.”

☙☙☙

An hour later, Harry and Draco found themselves deeply immersed in the tall bookshelves of Flourish and Blotts. While Harry skimmed the time-turning section, trying to find a suitable book for Hermione that she hadn’t read yet, Draco was poking around the ancient herbology section, which sat a shelf over.

“So,” Harry said, pulling out an autobiographical recounting of time travel, “what are your Christmases like?”

“Now, or when I was a child?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Surprise me.”

Draco let out a heavy sigh. “Christmas was always my favorite day of the year as a child. I was beyond spoilt, never failing to be gifted every single thing that I’d asked for. My father has never been a particularly happy man, but he always smiled on Christmas. As I grew up and The Dark Lord began to gain notoriety again, Christmas felt like the one day that I didn’t have to think about my responsibilities.

“As you can imagine, things are pretty different now. It’s just Mother and myself, so things are relatively quiet. I’ll help her cook, and then we’ll spend the evening playing chess. It’s simple enough, but I enjoy it nonetheless.

Harry sighed. “I’m sorry you had such a tough time during our later years at Hogwarts.”

Draco waved a hand nonchalantly through the air. “Oh, don’t be. It was a long time ago, and there’s no use dwelling on it now. Plus, I wasn’t entirely innocent.”

Harry nodded. “Did you know that I was there that night? On the Astronomy Tower. I saw everything. It was the first time I saw fear in you, and I think it was then that I began to realize you didn’t want any of it. You were stuck and had no way out.”

Draco briefly closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them, tears were threatening to spill out.

“Thank you, Potter,” he whispered.

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Can we talk about something else?” Draco asked, looking away.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry said.

“What are your Christmases like? And how did you celebrate when you were living with the Muggles?”

“Merlin,” Harry said, “that’s a heavy question. Well, Christmases with my aunt and uncle weren’t exactly … happy. The only presents I’d get were a few pairs of my cousin’s old socks and a ratty tee shirt if I was lucky. While my aunt, uncle, and cousin ate dinner, I was always sent to clean the kitchen. And once I was done with that, I would be told to go back to my cupboard under the stairs. When I got to Hogwarts, I realized that I didn’t have to go back for Christmas, and that was the end of that. I always either spent the Christmas holiday at school or with the Weasleys. It’s pretty much the same now. I’ll go over to The Burrow on Christmas Eve and spend the night, and then I’ll go back to my flat on the 27th. Hermione, her parents, Andromeda, and Teddy always join us, and it’s just … well, it’s really nice.”

“That sounds lovely, Potter,” Draco said.

Looking at Draco, Harry swore he saw a hint of jealousy. It made sense, he supposed. The way Draco described his Christmases sounded very lonely, especially compared to the chaos that ensued every time the entire Weasley clan got together. Harry racked his brain for ways to remedy the sad look in Draco’s eyes, eventually landing on the fact that he would need to consult Ron and Hermione about it.

They spent thirty more minutes browsing the shelves of Flourish and Blotts before Harry landed on four books for Hermione. Surprisingly, Draco picked up a book of his own, _Magical Pets and How to Keep Them_.

Harry looked at him with curiosity.

“My mother is looking into getting a pet,” Draco explained. “She thinks it might help keep her occupied.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense. What kind of pet is she leaning towards?”

“She’s not sure, so I figured this book might be of use,” Draco said.

“Well, I can attest that cats are wonderful companions,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can, Potter.”

After they paid for their books, they wandered back out into the glacial afternoon. Diagon Alley was more crowded than it had been when they’d first begun their roaming, the street bustling with magical folk anxious to get into the warmth of the shops.

Draco glanced at his watch with a frown. “It’s getting late. I should probably get going.”

Harry tried desperately to ignore the disappointment settling in his stomach. “Alright. Well, thanks for a great time.”

Draco gave him a small smile. “Of course. See you tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

As Harry watched Draco’s tall, slender figure disappear into the crowd, he let out a heavy sigh. It was going to be a lonely evening.


	9. The Christmas Craft Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is almost four hours later than usual! I slept in for the first time in a while, and it was great 😂 The craft fair is based on a holiday fair that happens every year in my town, and it's held at the local art center. It's not on this year, of course, so I'm missing it lots. Also, I PROMISE I will get to responding to comments once I've uploaded all of the chapters!
> 
> As always, thank you all so much for your endless love and support on TWWW <3
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Tuesday, Dec. 8th

_Harry,_

_I suppose this is what I get for telling you to not do anything about the Narcissa situation. I always knew you were stubborn, but I didn’t know to what extent. Perhaps Teddy takes after his godfather._

_If I understand correctly, it would appear as though both Narcissa and Draco are willing to give a reunion a go. I’ll admit that I’m feeling rather hesitant about the entire thing, but I know I ought to swallow my nerves and get on with it. It’s still strange to think about the fact that Narcissa has been wanting this all along, and I can’t believe Draco has any memory of me. It’s hard to imagine that he’s all grown now (and almost certainly taller than me, which isn’t hard to do). I think back to the last time I saw Narcissa and see someone so young and full of life. She always had the most beautiful hair, and how I envied her for it. I suppose it’s begun to grey now, and I’m sure she’s got some wrinkles here and there. It’s a little intimidating to imagine how age has caught up with her, and I’m not sure if I’m ready to see all of our lost years etched into her body._

_But then I must ask myself the question ― if not now, when?_

_Please arrange this reunion whenever you see fit. As you know, we’re available any day of the week, although evening would work better given that Teddy’s still in school. Thank you, Harry, for all that you’ve done._

_Andy x_

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he set the letter down on the checkout counter. Looking up, he saw Ron and Hermione staring at him expectantly.

“Well?” Hermione asked, arching her eyebrows as she popped a crisp into her mouth.

“Well,” Harry began, pulling a chair up next to where the two of them were seated in the middle of the store, “Andy doesn’t seem _too_ mad at me for going behind her back. In fact, she told me to go ahead and schedule a day for the reunion to happen.”

“Brilliant. Are you going to write her back now?” Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. “No, I’ll wait until this afternoon. She and Teddy always go out for lunch on Saturdays.”

Ron nodded. “Speaking of, how much longer do we have for lunch?”

“We have,” Harry said, glancing down at his wrist watch, “thirty minutes until we have to open the shop back up.”

“Thanks, mate.”

“So, Harry, I take it we’re still on for the craft fair tonight,” Hermione said.

“Yeah, absolutely. Although … there’s been a minor change in plans ―” Harry began, but he was abruptly cut off.

“Don’t tell me you invited Malfoy,” Ron said.

Harry ducked his head down in an attempt to hide the blush that was inevitably blooming across his face. “ _Maybe_.”

Ron tipped his head back, letting out an audible groan.

“Oi, I thought you didn’t mind Malfoy!” Harry said.

“I don’t! It’s just that, well … we always get an earful about him every time we talk to you,” Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I had to deal with that from you and Hermione for years.”

Before Ron could protest, Hermione interjected with light laughter. “I suppose he’s got a point, Ron.”

Ron slumped in his seat. “ … Yeah, I guess.”

“So, you’re both alright with Malfoy coming, then?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Of course, Harry. _We_ ,” Hermione said, looking intently at Ron, “know how much Draco means to you, and we’d be happy to get to know him better. Plus, it’s difficult to ignore the fact that he’s the first person you’ve taken an interest in since Ginny. He must be rather special.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling at different memories from the past few days, “he’s … well, he’s Draco.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Merlin, ‘Mione, look at him! He’s absolutely lovesick!”

☙☙☙

Harry closed the shop up at 3:30 before heading up to his flat with Ron and Hermione. The late afternoon was misty and cold, silver shadows falling over the city of London. From Harry’s living room window, he could see wixens milling about Diagon Alley, many of them heading in the direction of Fortescue’s. He didn’t blame them ― the cold seeping through the walls of his flat was nearly enough to send him off in search of a steaming mug of hot chocolate, but he consoled himself by saying that he would have plenty of opportunities to get something warm to drink at the craft fair.

While Hermione and Ron sat on the couch and amused Stockinette, Harry wandered back to his bedroom. There, he quickly changed out of the hoodie that he’d worn to the shop and pulled on a pine colored jumper that was donned with white and pastel blue stripes. As he quickly attempted to flatten his hair, which was curling in peculiar angles, he heard the Floo roar to life and Draco’s unmistakable voice.

“Shit,” Harry murmured to himself.

He took one last look in the mirror, anxiously pulling and tugging on his jumper. He could feel a surge of butterflies shooting through his body, and he had to remind himself that this was, in fact, not a date. Hell, he didn’t even know if Draco was into men. Perhaps all of this was an impossible story that he was dreaming up and couldn’t bear to let go of.

With a sigh, he turned out of his bedroom and down the hallway. As soon as he caught sight of Draco, he let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Draco looked particularly lovely, clad in an eggplant colored jumper and form-fitting black trousers. Harry watched as Draco greeted Hermione and Ron, his face lit with what Harry recognized as both nervousness and excitement. Stockinette had hopped down from her spot on Ron’s lap and was now parading around Draco’s ankles, occasionally butting her head up against his legs in request of pets.

Before Harry could say anything, Draco looked up and caught his eye. Harry’s breath hitched as a soft smile crept across Draco’s face, and the world seemed to fall away. If Harry could, he would have captured that moment a thousand times in his head, the image Draco smiling at the sight of him igniting something splendid and terrifying in the pit of his stomach.

“Hi, Potter,” Draco said, picking Stockinette up and cradling her in his arms.

“Hey, Malfoy. Can I get you anything before we go?” Harry asked.

“I don’t think so. Thanks, though.”

Harry nodded, looking in Ron and Hermione’s direction. “Are you two ready?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, standing up from the couch. “I took the liberty of giving Stockinette a small snack while you were getting changed.”

Harry snorted. “Of _course_ you did.”

“Are we going out to dinner after the fair?” Hermione asked.

“I imagine so,” Harry said, glancing briefly at Draco. “We can sort where we eat later.”

“Sounds good.”

The four of them wandered over to the fireplace. Hermione was the first to pick up Floo powder and step inside, saying, “Twelve Grimmauld Place” before disappearing in a burst of green flames. Ron went next, leaving only Harry and Draco.

“Ready?” Harry asked as Draco stepped into the fireplace.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Draco grinned.

Then, he was gone.

After giving Stockinette one final scratch, Harry followed. A brief moment later and he was stumbling out of Grimmauld Place’s sitting room fireplace. The sweet smell of cinnamon, oranges, and baked apples hit him as he looked around, searching for a glint of blond hair.

His eyes landed on Draco, who was standing to the right of the fireplace with Ron and Hermione. Just as Harry was about to go up to them, a hand on his shoulder held him back. He turned around to find Amber Zhao, the woman in charge of Grimmauld Place and the craft fair, grinning at him.

“Mr. Potter, I’m so glad you could make it,” Amber said.

“I wouldn't miss it for the world,” Harry said politely. “It looks amazing, by the way.”

And it was true; Grimmauld Place looked as incredible as it always did during the holiday season. Thick ropes of garland were wrapped around the grand staircase’s banister, along with bright red ribbons and clusters of holly. The crystal chandelier hanging above the grand foyer collected golden light spilling from the various lanterns levitating about the place. Harry could only see a few craft stalls through the thick crowd, but he knew that they would be extending to every room in each story.

“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without my wife, who was the chief decorator,” Amber said, smiling brightly.

“Is Sarah here tonight?” Harry asked, silently applauding himself for remembering the wife’s name.

Amber shook her head. “Unfortunately not. We couldn’t find a babysitter for our toddler, so she’s at home. I’m sure she’s been roped into reading _Babbity Rabbity_ for the umpteenth time.”

Harry let out a courteous laugh. “Well, thank you for putting together such an amazing evening. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“Bye, Mr. Potter.”

As soon as he was free of the conversation, Harry wandered over to Draco, Ron, and Hermione, who were in the middle of discussing where to begin.

“Well,” Ron said, peering around, “I’d like to try to find a present for Harry, so I think it might be best if we split up.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, sounds good. Should we meet back here in an hour?”

“Sure,” Harry said.

“Sounds fine by me,” Draco added.

“Alright. Have fun!” Hermione said.

Before Ron could wander off, Harry beckoned for him to come closer, whispering, “what the hell was that about?”

“Despite the fact that Malfoy is an annoying prat, I’m still your wingman,” Ron said hastily, winking before following Hermione towards the staircase.

“Well, Potter? Are you coming?”

Harry looked to where Draco was standing and grinned, wandering over. “Where do you want to start?”

Draco looked around, pursing his lips in thought. “How about we start here and work our way around the first floor?”

Harry nodded. “Perfect.”

Draco led them to the first stall, which was only a few feet to their left. A large shimmering banner above it read _Witchy Cauldrons & Co_. The levitating shelves surrounding the stall were clad with bright, shiny cauldrons glazed in a variety of different colors. Some even had patterns painted on them, ranging from stripes to animated Cornish pixies flying about.

“What do you think?” Harry asked.

“I’m fond of that one,” Draco said, pointing to a cauldron that had a large dragon painted on the outside.

Harry snorted. “Of course you are.”

“Mother recently told me that decorative cauldrons have become all the rage lately. Personally, I don’t see the appeal. Why would one purchase a cauldron only for it to sit and collect dust?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Things don’t have to have a purpose in order for them to be useful. These cauldrons are art, just like a painting or a sculpture.”

Draco let out a haughty huff of air in response.

“Alright, why don’t we go to a different stall, then?” Harry suggested.

“Excellent.”

They wandered to the next stall over, which was full of soaps that smelled like magical sweets. Harry watched as Draco picked up a gold colored bar and raised it to his nose.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“Butterbeer,” Draco said, setting the bar of soap back down. “It smells just like the real thing.”

Harry smiled, picking up a light pink soap and smelling it. “This one is Sugar Quill scented.”

They spent the next ten minutes going through each and every soap, marveling at how accurately they resembled childhood treats. When they finally walked away, Draco was the proud owner of five new soaps.

As they wandered past a stall selling pasta art, Harry suddenly remembered the letter he had received earlier.

“I almost forgot,” he began, bringing them to a halt. “Andromeda wrote me back. She says she’d love to have us arrange a reunion.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, and a wide smile spread across his face. “Alright. Well, when do you want to schedule it?”

“Wednesday?” Harry suggested. “I’m usually able to close up shop a little early during mid-week.”

“Sounds good to me. How about you, Andromeda, and Teddy come over to The Manor at around five? We can have dinner together,” Draco said.

Harry grinned. “Perfect.”

They continued on to a stall that consisted of hand-blown glass sculptures. Harry’s eyes immediately went to an amber colored sculpture in the shape of a Snitch. Just as Harry reached to pick up the Snitch, Draco did the same. Their hands brushed, Draco’s skin warm and soft, and Harry was entirely lost. The moment hung suspended in air, Christmas carols and loud chatter fading into the background, and for the second time that night Harry felt the urge to hold onto whatever this was for as long as possible.

The tension was broken when Draco let out a light laugh, gesturing for Harry to pick up the Snitch. “Go on.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured.

He turned the glass over in his hands, cool and smooth compared to his roughness of his fingertips. Ridges had been blown in the glass to replicate the geometric design that donned the body of each Snitch, and the iridescent whiteness of the wings glowed in the honey colored light coming from the lanterns.

“It’s beautiful,” Draco said softly.

Harry looked up, nodding. “It is.”

Draco cleared his throat, looking around. “Well, shall we move on?”

“Sure.”

They made their way around different stalls for the next while, admiring the vast variety of skill sets that had been put on display for the evening. One of Harry’s favorite stalls had been one containing shelves upon shelves of artisan toffee. The toffee maker had explained that each bucket was unique to the taster, as she’d perfected an edible solution that would recall one’s most treasured memories. As Harry had let his sample melt on his tongue, dissolving into a pool of warm, buttery sugar, he’d felt overcome with memories of the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts, laughing with Ron and Hermione in the common room, hugging Molly and Arthur Weasley, and ― the most surprising of the bunch ― decorating the Whomping Willow Woolery with Draco. Closing his eyes as he’d savored the toffee, he couldn’t help but hope that Draco was thinking of the same thing.

Before they knew it, an hour had passed and their arms were full of paper bags containing gifts. As they wandered towards the sitting room’s fireplace, Draco stopped short.

“Actually, I think there’s something I’d like to go back and quickly buy.”

Harry paused. “Oh, okay. Want me to come with you?”

Draco shook his head as he rearranged the various bags hanging off of him. “No, that’s alright. You go ahead and meet up with Gra― Hermione and Ron. I’ll only be a minute. Also, _please_ remind me to shrink my bags before dinner.”

As Harry opened his mouth to respond, Draco turned around, parting his way through the crowd. Shrugging to himself, Harry continued on, eventually spotting Ron and Hermione through the clusters of wixen. Hermione was in the midst of stuffing shrunken down wrapped items into her handbag, which Ron was holding open. As Harry approached, Ron looked up and frowned.

“Hey, where’s Malfoy?” he asked, causing Hermione to stop and take notice of Draco’s absence as well.

“Said he had to go back and get something. I see you were successful,” Harry said through a snort as he nodded in the direction of Hermione’s bag.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron insisted that we buy a magical kitchen mixer. I’m not quite sure why, as the charmed KitchenAid we have at home is _perfectly_ suitable …”

Ron scoffed in mock offense. “It’s for my baking, ‘Mione!”

“I don’t care if it’s for your baking, Ronald. It cost us thirty-four Galleons!”

As Hermione and Ron bickered about their new appliance, Harry searched the crowd for any sign of Draco. Realizing that the sea of people was far too thick, he sighed and turned to his own purchases. He’d been successful in buying presents for nearly everyone on his list, which was a great relief. He’d spent far too many Christmas Eves in years past scrambling to Diagon Alley after realizing that he’d waited to buy presents until quite literally the last second.

“Miss me?”

Harry looked up, startled, only to find Draco grinning very cheekily at him. However, he quickly recovered by snorting.

“Yeah, Malfoy, I was thinking about you each second that you were gone.”

Well, that wasn’t entirely _untrue_.

Draco rolled his eyes before turning towards Ron and Hermione, who were still engaged in a pointless battle, and raised his eyebrows. “What’s with them?”

“Ron bought a magical kitchen mixer,” Harry said.

“Ah,” Draco said, as though that was explanatory enough.

After a moment of reasoning with both Ron and Hermione, the latter had finally relented on the sole condition that she received weekly batches of biscuits. Ron, of course, had been happy to oblige.

Once Harry and Draco had shrunken their bags down to a far more reasonable size and stuffed them into Hermione’s handbag when she wasn’t looking, they began their venture back to Harry’s flat.

Harry, once again being the last to use the Floo, fell stumbling into his living room and directly into Draco’s back. Harry did his best to right himself as quickly as possible, but the damage was done. Draco turned around, eyebrows quirked.

“I see your Quidditch coordination doesn’t extend to your personal life,” he said, smirking.

Harry flipped him the bird. “Get stuffed, Malfoy.”

“Settle down, you two,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she knelt down and stroked Stockinette. “So, where are we headed to for dinner?”

Ron let out a heavy sigh as he collapsed onto the couch. “Dunno. Pizza kind of sounds good ― that Muggle place near here, what’s it called?”

“Brian’s?” Hermione asked, taking a seat next to him.

“Yeah, that,” Ron said, nodding.

Draco snorted. “Brian’s? What kind of tosser names their restaurant Brian’s?”

“Well, I can’t say Brian’s is any stranger than The Leaky Cauldron,” Hermione said.

When Draco looked to Harry for backup, he simply shrugged. “She’s got a point.”

After thirty antagonizing minutes of back-and-forth regarding where to eat, the four of them finally landed on a relatively new Italian restaurant, owned by a well-regarded witch, near Flourish and Blotts. Once Stockinette had been adequately pet, coats and scarves had been put on, and Harry and Draco’s purchases had been snuck out of Hermione’s bag, they were off.

A large, pale moon sat flushed against the wine colored sky, casting deep shadows across the night as they made their way down the street. Harry huddled into his shawl, desperate to get some semblance of relief from the strong gusts of northern wind.

“You okay, Potter?” Draco asked as Hermione and Ron walked ahead. “You look a bit … cold.”

“I’m fine,” Harry said nonchalantly, although he knew the slight chattering of his teeth easily gave him away.

“Uh-huh.”

“I am!”

“Right. Well,” Draco said, unravelling his own knitted scarf and tucking it around Harry’s neck, “this ought to help.”

The burgundy wool was soft against Harry’s skin, and it smelled of Draco’s aftershave: cloves, pine, and citrus. He instantly felt a bit warmer, although he wasn’t sure whether that was from the scarf itself or the furious blush that was spreading across his face and down his neck.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” he murmured.

“Don’t mention it.”

As they continued their walk, Harry chose to not point out the fact that Draco easily could have cast a Heating Charm instead.


	10. The Reuinion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning/afternoon/evening, everyone! I am THRILLED because I just remembered that the next chapter is one of my favorites!
> 
> Oh! And a little surprise for anyone who's interested in knitting: the hat that Harry is going to knit Draco for Christmas will be coming to life! I’m designing it, and my wife Emma will be making it and then publishing the pattern on Ravelry at some point in the near-ish future!
> 
> As always, thank you so much for leaving kudos and screaming at me about the mutual pining! 
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Thursday, Dec. 10th

Harry paced the length of his living room for the twentieth time as he anxiously checked his wrist watch, his mind racing with ways in which the reunion could go horribly wrong. Despite there being ten minutes left before he needed to Floo to Andromeda’s house, he’d been ready for the past half hour, having taken a shower and packed his knitting bag early.

After a few more rounds of pacing, Harry let out a heavy sigh and ducked into the bathroom in the hall. There, he fidgeted with the hem of what he considered to be his nicest jumper. It had been knitted out of bulky, garnet colored targhee-Columbia wool, and the white yoke of the sweater was Nordic in design. He’d made the jumper for the grand opening of the Whomping Willow Woolery a year ago, and he’d been astounded at the amount of compliments he’d managed to receive on it. Even Hermione had said that it was his best work yet, and he couldn’t help but agree.

He’d paired the jumper with a pair of simple, form fitting black jeans and brown oxfords, not knowing just how formal he was supposed to look. However, he figured it would be better to be overdressed in front of Narcissa Malfoy instead of underdressed.

Reluctantly leaving the bathroom, Harry wasted the next five minutes kissing a squirming Stockinette, channeling all of his nervous energy into telling her what a good girl she was.

With a final check of his watch, Harry stood up from where he’d been crouching next to Stockinette. He let out a heavy breath as he looked down at her, frowning as she butted her head up against his leg.

“Okay, Stocky,” Harry began, immediately catching her attention. “I’ve got to go run an errand, but I’ll be back in a little bit. I’ve put your dinner out, and you’ve got fresh water. I’ll see you tonight, alright? We'll do big cuddles.”

After a moment of contemplation, Stockinette glared at him before swiftly heading towards the kitchen without a second glance. Harry let out a huff of amused laughter as he gathered his knitting bag and walked into the fireplace, disappearing in a bright burst of green flames.

As he stepped into Andromeda’s living room, he spotted a large box of Cheerios upside down on the ground, sticky O’s littering the carpet. Figuring that Andromeda was helping Teddy get ready, he whipped out his wand and quickly cleaned the mess.

Once the cereal box was upright on the coffee table, Harry wandered towards the hallway. Poking his head down it, he could hear Teddy blowing raspberries from the direction of his bedroom and Andromeda sighing in what could only be described as a horrible cocktail of exhaustion and stress.

“Please, Teddy,” she said, her voice weary. “We’ll be late.”

“I don’t want that shirt!” Teddy pouted.

Harry waited another moment to see if Andromeda needed help. However, it was clear that she could use a minute to herself when he could hear soft sobs coming from the bedroom.

Without hesitating, Harry walked down the hall and knocked on the door before opening it. There, he found Teddy jumping on his bed and out of Andromeda’s reach, his hair color changing with each bounce.

Harry cleared his throat. “Hey, you two.”

Andromeda turned around, greeting Harry with a sad smile as tears leaked down her face. “Hi, Harry. As you can see, we’re running a little behind.”

Harry stepped closer, patting her reassuringly on the back. “Why don’t I help Teddy get dressed? Go take a minute to yourself before we leave.”

“Really?” Andromeda asked, running a hand anxiously through her neatly styled hair. “He’s in a bit of a mood, Harry. I’m alright to finish getting him ready.”

Harry shook his head, ushering her in the direction of the door. “We’ll be fine, Andy. Go drink a big glass of water.”

Andromeda let out a soft laugh, wiping her falling tears on the back of her hands as she silently mouthed “thank you” before heading in the direction of the kitchen.

Turning back around, Harry greeted Teddy with a wide grin as he approached the bed.

“Teddy! My man! How’s it going?” he asked, holding out his hand for a first bump.

“Alright,” Teddy said, his mouth mimicking an explosion as he bumped their fists together and pulled away. “Granny wanted me to wear an ugly shirt.”

Teddy pointed to a heap on the ground, which Harry quickly recognized as a stiff collared shirt. He didn’t blame Teddy for not wanting to wear it, although he could also understand why Andromeda wanted Teddy to look particularly nice. It was a big night, after all.

“I see,” Harry said, tickling Teddy’s bare torso as he thought about solutions. “It does seem a bit uncomfortable, doesn’t it? Why don’t I see what else you’ve got to wear?”

Teddy nodded enthusiastically as Harry headed over to his closet and began to comb through the various shirts and jumpers hanging up. Halfway through the rack, Harry landed on a jumper he’d made Teddy for his sixth birthday. It had been knitted out of light brown alpaca and mohair, and Harry had embroidered a black colored dog, not unlike Sirius’ Animagus, onto the front. He unhooked the jumper’s hanger from the rack and faced Teddy, holding it up with a smile.

“Hey! How about this?” he asked.

Teddy grinned. “Okay.”

Harry spent the next several minutes pulling the jumper onto Teddy and then helping him with his socks and shoes. As soon as Teddy was fully dressed, he darted off of his bed and planted himself in front of the mirror hanging from the back of his door. There, he began testing out different hair colors, eventually landing on mint green.

“Good choice, Ted,” Harry said, ruffling the boy’s soft curls.

Teddy turned to Harry, a slight frown on his face. “Granny said we’re going to see some family that I’ve never met before.”

Harry sighed, crouching so that he was eye-level with Teddy. “That’s true. Has Granny told you about them?”

Teddy shook his head.

“Well, their names are Draco and Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa is Granny’s sister, and Draco is her son. Granny hasn’t seen either of them in a very long time, so tonight’s very special,” Harry said gently.

“Why haven’t they seen each other in so long? If I had a brother or sister, _I_ wouldn’t wait so long to see them!” Teddy said indignantly.

“It’s complicated, Ted. You remember us telling you about the war that hurt your mummy and daddy?” Harry asked, his chest tightening at the thought of Remus.

Teddy nodded.

“Well, the war hurt a lot of people, including Granny and her family. They were all hurt in different ways, and it’s only now that they’ve healed enough to see each other again,” Harry explained.

The room fell silent as Teddy paused, pursing his lips in deep thought. After a moment, he crossed his arms and let out a huff of air.

“That doesn’t make very much sense.”

Harry let out a soft laugh. “I know, Teddy. It’ll make more sense when you’re older. Now, come on. Let’s go see where Granny’s at. I think it’d be a good idea if you said sorry to her.”

Harry led them out of the bedroom and down the hall. There, they found Andromeda sitting in a stupor on the couch, a glass of undrunk water in her trembling hands. Her tears had dried, although there was still red rimmed around her dark eyes.

“Andy,” Harry said, causing her to jump slightly, “Teddy has something he’d like to say to you.”

“Oh?” Andromeda said, setting down her glass of water and holding her arms open for Teddy as he wandered towards her.

“I’m sorry, Granny,” Teddy mumbled as he burrowed his head into her shoulder.

“Shh. It’s alright, dear,” Andromeda said, patting him on the back.

Teddy pulled back, grinning. “I’ve got my Sirius jumper on, though!”

Andromeda laughed, straightening the hem of his jumper. “Yes, I see that. You look very dashing.”

Harry’s heart dipped at the mention of Sirius. Teddy only had a vague knowledge of who Sirius was, although Harry knew that Andromeda was planning on telling him about how important Sirius was to Remus soon enough.

“Well, are you two ready to go?” Andromeda asked, shaking Harry from his thoughts.

“Yep,” he said.

“Yes! Will there be sweets there, Granny?” Teddy asked.

Andromeda snorted as she stood up, gathering her things. “I have a strong suspicion that Aunt Narcissa will have put out a sweet or two.”

As soon as Andromeda had slung her handbag full of coloring books, crayons, and odd dolls, the three of them wandered towards the fireplace. Harry hung back, expecting Andromeda and Teddy to go first, but Andromeda simply stared.

“ … Do you want me to go first, Andy?” Harry asked.

Andromeda looked towards him, nodding stiffly. Her eyes were paralyzed with fear, and Harry understood that he’d most likely be the one to instigate interactions at the Manor.

Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Harry stepped into the fireplace. As he let the powder slip through his fingers, flames beginning to engulf him, he could just barely make out the twisted look of fright on Andromeda’s face before he disappeared.

Then, he was in a place that felt all too familiar.

Brushing himself off as he stepped into the large drawing room, Harry took a look around. While the layout was seemingly the same, it appeared as though Narcissa had spent the past few years doing a major overhaul of the place. The cold, grey wall color had been stripped, and in its place sat Victorian turquoise and gold wallpaper. A large twelve light crystal chandelier hung from the tall ceiling, sending a cascade of rainbow refracted light across the room. Even the furniture had been replaced with a comfortable looking, chartreuse colored velvet couch and several sitting chairs that matched.

As Harry took in his surroundings, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling that he’d been here all too recently. Stuffing the waves of broken memories from Easter Break of ‘98 as far down as possible, he inhaled deeply.

_That was then. This is now._

Just as Harry was about to head towards the room to the right, which appeared to be the dining room, he heard footsteps approaching against the walnut floors. His head snapping up, Harry saw Draco wandering towards him with an easy smile on his face.

Relieved at the familiar sight, he let out a sigh. “Hey, Malfoy.”

“Potter,” Draco said with a nod. “Where’s Aunt Andromeda? And Teddy?”

“They’re right behind me. Andy’s a bit nervous, so she’s just taking her time,” Harry explained.

“Oh. Alright. I’ve been eager to meet Teddy,” Draco said, a blush spreading across his face as he admitted this.

Harry grinned widely in response as he looked at Draco, who was dressed particularly well tonight. Wearing a knitted charcoal turtleneck and light grey trousers that fit him perfectly, Harry swore that the sight of Draco was leaving him dizzy.

It was such a contrast to the boy Draco had been last time they’d come face-to-face in the Manor. Then, Draco had hardly resembled a living person, his hollow face having been consumed with shadows. Although so many things stood out from that day so many years ago, one thing Harry couldn’t forget, no matter how hard he tried, was the look of sheer terror in Draco’s eyes. Harry had never seen anything like it, as though he was witnessing the death of the boy he’d grown up with.

“Potter?”

Harry blinked, realizing that his mind had been wandering. Draco was staring at him, his eyebrows knit together in concern.

“Sorry,” Harry said, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Don’t be,” Draco said, stepping forward and putting a hand reassuringly on Harry’s shoulder. “I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Harry swallowed thickly as he gazed up, transfixed, at Draco. “Yeah, I’m alright. Just tired.”

Before Draco could say anything, a loud whooshing sound came from behind them. Draco took a step back in surprise, and Harry could immediately feel the absence of warmth from Draco’s hand on his shoulder. Turning around, he saw Andromeda and Teddy stepping out of the Floo.

“Draco? Is someone here?”

Harry looked to his right and saw Narcissa coming through the doorway, stopping in her tracks as soon as she saw Andromeda and Teddy. The dish towel she was holding dropped limply to the floor.

“Cissy,” Andromeda murmured, her eyes once again filling with pools of tears as she stared at her sister.

Harry glanced at Draco, who was transfixed on Teddy, and felt a wave of warmth surge through his body.

“Um. Hello,” Narcissa said, fidgeting with the hem of her grey jumper as she took a few hesitant steps forward. “This must be Edward, although I understand that he prefers to go by Teddy.”

“Yes, this is Teddy,” Andromeda nodded, wiping a few stray tears as she ruffled Teddy’s hair. “Teddy, can you say hi to Aunt Narcissa and Cousin Draco?”

“Hi!” Teddy said, smiling brightly as he gave them an enthusiastic wave. “Do you have sweets?”

Narcissa let out a light laugh, which Harry was relieved to see reach her eyes, and crouched down in front of Teddy. “I have some Cauldron Cakes, although they’re for dessert.”

“Oh, good! I love Cauldron Cakes!” Teddy said before turning to Draco. “Do you like Cauldron Cakes?”

Slowly, Draco stepped forward. “I do. They were always my favorite treat on the Hogwarts Express.”

“Seems as though an affinity for Cauldron Cakes runs in the family,” Narcissa joked, her eyes meeting Andromeda’s.

Harry remembered being told that Andromeda would serve Draco Cauldron Cakes when they used to visit, and suddenly everything felt much more real. Andromeda and Narcissa were in the same room for the first time in nearly two decades, and although it was a bit awkward, things didn't seem like they were going to explode any time soon.

“Well, why don’t the three of you take a seat at the dining room table while Draco and I finish up dinner?” Narcissa asked, standing up so that she was only a few steps away from Andromeda.

“Sounds good,” Harry said, taking Teddy’s hand in his.

Narcissa nodded. “Alright. This way, then.”

Harry, Teddy, and Andromeda followed along as Narcissa and Draco led them into the dining room. A large table, running nearly the length of the room, was decorated with four vases of holly sprigs and three silver candelabras that had ornately carved dragons running along the stems. The room was dimly lit, shadows from the candles’ flames flickering across the deep teal walls, although several bright streams of pale moonlight were flooding through the large, rectangular window on the far wall.

“Cissy, is there anything I can do to help?” Andromeda asked as she helped Teddy into his chair.

Narcissa pursed her lips in thought for a moment before glancing at Draco and saying, “I think we have everything under control, but thank you. We’ll be back in a minute.”

Harry watched as Draco disappeared behind Narcissa into the next room, his gaze lingering only a moment too long before he got hold of himself and turned his attention to Teddy and Andromeda, who were seated opposite him.

As Harry slid into his chair, Andromeda let out a heavy sigh. Looking up, he realized just how worn she was.

“How’re you doing, Andy?” he asked in a lowered tone.

Andromeda shrugged dismissively as she wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s a lot, I suppose. I hadn’t prepared myself for how different ― _older_ ― Narcissa would look. Being able to physically see the years that we spent apart is more difficult than I’d imagined, and knowing that she’s lost so much time with Teddy is heartbreaking.”

“But Auntie Narcissa has us now, Granny!” Teddy said, beaming.

Andromeda let out a short laugh, ruffling his hair. “That’s true, sweetheart.”

A thick silence fell over the table as they patiently waited. Harry could hear soft murmurs of discussion coming from the other side of the wall, but it was largely too quiet to make out.

Ten minutes later, Draco and Narcissa returned to the dining room, followed by a trail of levitating platters. The rich smell of citrus filled the air, and Harry’s stomach doubled over with hunger.

The platters began to arrange themselves across the table, and Harry was finally able to see what they were to be having for dinner: a lemon and rosemary chicken, creamy mashed potatoes with gravy, and buttery string beans with salt and pepper. Teddy began to clap his hands eagerly as he eyed the food in front of him, causing Harry to grin.

“Does it look good, Ted?” he asked.

Teddy nodded eagerly in response as his hands began to make a grabby motion in the direction of the dinner rolls.

“Darling,” Andromeda said, reaching for his arms, “let’s wait until everyone sits down, okay?”

Teddy relented, pouting as he stuck his hands back in his lap. “Fine.”

Just as Harry was about to tell Teddy that he was doing a good job of waiting, Draco slid into the chair next to him. He looked up, startled, only to find that Draco was smiling softly at him as he folded a fabric napkin on his lap.

“Mind if I sit here?” Draco asked.

Harry, slightly breathless from the overwhelming intoxication of Draco’s aftershave, shook his head. “Not at all.”

☙☙☙

As dinner progressed, Harry couldn’t help but be overtly aware of how close he was sitting to Draco. It was nothing new; they’d been in such proximity plenty of times. However, he swore he could feel every one of Draco’s light exhales and polite laughs travel up his spine.

The conversation was kept very mild, which Harry wasn’t surprised about in the least. The closest they got to talking about the war was when Harry mentioned that he still had a hard time with the press, and even this was quickly skirted around.

It wasn’t until after dinner that Harry began to feel a little more at ease. Teddy volunteered himself to help Narcissa put together the platter of Cauldron Cakes, and Andromeda cautiously tagged along. Harry figured it would be a good excuse for the three of them to spend a few moments alone, so he requested that Draco bring him around the Manor’s garden.

As he and Draco wandered down the steps that led into the back garden, both of their wands alight, he looked around in awe. In the near left corner sat several of what could only be described as enormous Venus flytraps. Their stalks towered at least two feet taller than Harry, and their light green heads were dotted with large purple spots. They were bumping into each other in the bitterly cold wind, causing them to snap at each other upon every impact.

“What are they?” Harry asked, stopping in front of the plants.

“They’re called Viridi Gigas,” Draco said, squinting up at the huge stalks, “and they’re one of my mother’s most prized possessions.”

“They’re … _amazing_ ,” Harry murmured.

“Well, you haven’t seen anything yet,” Draco said, grinning as he took a few steps forward. “Come on. This way.”

Harry followed Draco down the cobblestone path. A full moon hung painted against the inky sky, and only a few stars were visible behind thick clusters of clouds. To their right were rows upon rows of pink, white, and red rose bushes, all neatly trimmed into perfect spheres. Up ahead sat a wall of tall, willowy reeds surrounding what appeared to be a pond. As they neared it, Harry could just barely make out the silhouettes of koi swimming in the dark water. Draco led Harry to a white marble bench that was hidden in a cutout among the reeds, and they took a seat.

Harry huddled further into his winter coat as he took in his surroundings. On the opposite side of the pond stood a towering orange tree, its boughs laden with ripened fruit, and in the distance was a large hedge dotted with blinking eyes.

“Cold?” Draco asked, rubbing his hands together.

Harry let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Here,” Draco began, pulling out his wand and casting a Heating Charm, “that should be better.”

“Thanks,” Harry said as he reached into his project bag and began to straighten out his needles. “So, is it strange seeing Andy?”

Draco let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, and overwhelming, I suppose. She looks much older than I remember, although she’s just as kind. And Teddy is rather amusing, isn’t he? I’d like to show him the albino peacocks when it’s not so dark out. I’m sure he’d like them.”

Harry snorted. “I imagine he would. He’s a huge animal lover.”

Draco nodded. “I’ve noticed. Did you knit his dog jumper?”

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “It’s silly, really, but I wanted Teddy to have a piece of Remus’ best friend ― well, more than best friend, I guess. I always suspected there to be something else between Remus and Sirius than just friendship. Anyway, Sirius’ Animagus was a black dog, so …”

“I see. Well, I think it’s a lovely sentiment, Potter,” Draco said, his cheeks flushing. “Actually, speaking of jumpers, how’s yours coming along?”

Harry held up his knitting needles, showing off the progress he’d made in his yellow jumper. “Alright. I’m about to start the sleeves, which I’m _dreading_. I’d hoped to have finished it by now, but life has just gotten away from me. How’s your scarf going?”

“It’s … going,” Draco said, grimacing.

Harry let out a bark of laughter, elbowing him in the side. “Are you going to finally admit that you need help with it?”

“That’s ridiculous, Potter,” Draco began, trying to keep a straight face. “I certainly don’t need help with that blasted _thing_.”

By the time Draco had reached the end of his sentence, fits of giggles were escaping from his mouth, and his cheeks were a bright red. Looking at him, Harry wished he could freeze the moment in time, capturing it with a thousand photographs. There was a light to Draco’s eyes that he’d found comfort in, and seeing it now gave him a similar feeling to that of coming home after a long day.

“How’d you like to come with me on an errand tomorrow?” Harry asked, having barely processed the words before they were out in the open.

Draco raised an eyebrow, startled. “Sure. What kind of errand?”

“Well,” Harry said, shifting in his seat so that their thighs were pressing together, “I need to collect inventory from an indie yarn brand called _Lumos_. They’re based on a farm that’s located on the largest of the Aran Islands, Inis Mór. I’m planning on leaving around nine tomorrow morning, taking a Portkey to the point in Galway, and then getting a Muggle ferry to Inis Mór. How does that sound?”

“I’m up for it as long as you supply me with Butterbeer along the way,” Draco said, smirking.

Harry grinned, sticking out his hand. “It’s a deal.”

They shook on it, and Harry knew he was in for an adventure.


	11. Inis Mór

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW - VERY brief mention of homophobia. Like one line!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! One of my favorite chapters! Whenever I would visit my wife in Dublin while we were long distance, we would hang out on Grafton Street, eat waffles at Gino's, and get lunch at Bewley's. They're some of my most treasured memories.
> 
> I am beyond appreciative of all the continuous love and support that both TWWW and I have been receiving <3
> 
> Also, just confirming that the last chapter will be going up on Wednesday, Dec. 16th!
> 
> Next chapter goes up: Saturday, Dec. 12th

The following morning found Harry staring sourly at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he impatiently tried to clean his glasses. Clad in a cream cable jumper and faded blue jeans, he couldn’t help but wonder how his clothes would compare to Draco, whose outfit was bound to give him a heart attack from both jealousy and pure, unadulterated lust.

After coming to terms with the fact that continuing to poke and prod at his hair was only making things worse, Harry set down his comb and wandered into the living room. There, he spotted Stockinette in a loaf position on the coffee table, her legs politely tucked underneath her body. She stared at him, her head cocked slightly to the left as if to insinuate that Harry was moving far too slowly this morning.

“Merlin, someone’s impatient,” Harry said, giving her a brief scratch behind her velvety ears before heading towards the kitchen.

As he went about procuring breakfast for both Stockinette and himself, he heard the Floo roar to life. Glancing at the clock, he felt his stomach twist.

Draco was twenty minutes early, and Harry was _fucked_. He wasn’t even close to being ready to leave, as he had yet to pack his knitting bag, wallet, or printed order forms. Dashing to stand in front of the oven door, he took a quick last look at his reflection before begrudgingly deciding that he would have to do.

Stockinette’s food in hand, Harry wandered into the living room. As soon as he caught sight of Draco, his heart leapt into his throat.

Draco was crouching beside the coffee table, running his hand along Stockinette’s spine. His navy blue and white checkered trousers fit slimly against his figure, and a well suited brown jumper clung tightly to his torso. His winter coat, as well as a dark burgundy scarf, black beanie, and black gloves had been flung onto the back of the couch, causing Harry to smile to himself.

“Hiya,” he said, setting Stockinette’s bowl down in front of her.

The sound of crunching kibble filled the room.

“Hey,” Draco said, giving Stockinette one last pet before standing up. “Sorry I’m so early. One of my mother’s most important clients unexpectedly popped over, so she kicked me out.”

Harry snorted. “I don’t blame her.”

Draco rolled his eyes, shoving Harry lightly on the shoulder. “Fuck off. Now, where’s my breakfast?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, _your Highness_ ,” Harry said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I didn’t realize that you required breakfast.”

“Obviously, Potter,” Draco said, smirking. “Do I smell toast?”

“Yeah. Want some, then?” Harry asked as he picked up Stockinette’s now empty bowl.

“Please. With butter and jam, and don’t be stingy,” Draco instructed, plopping down on the couch.

Harry wandered back into the kitchen just as his two pieces of toast popped. Grabbing a stick of butter and a pot of raspberry jam from the fridge, he went about dressing the toast appropriately. Several minutes later, he returned to the living room with two plates and took a seat next to Draco on the couch.

They ate their breakfast in relative silence, both of them conscious of the time. When 8:55 rolled around, Harry collected their empty plates, dropped them off in the kitchen, and then began to gather his things. Sick of his yellow jumper and pair of mittens, he hastily packed a skein of bulky, golden brown yarn with speckles of cream and black for a new cowl, which he intended on giving Arthur, into a broom patterned project bag. Then, once he’d also stuffed his wallet and order forms into the bag, he layered on his coat, a slouchy beanie, and matching gloves that Hermione had made him years ago. Finally, he grabbed the toy giraffe Portkey that he’d rented the previous night. When he walked back to the living room, Draco was standing near the fireplace, his winter coat buttoned to the top and beanie pulled down tightly to his ears. He looked frustratingly endearing, causing a hot flush to rise to Harry’s cheeks.

“Alright. All set?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded. “I think so. You’ve got the Portkey?”

“Yep,” Harry said, holding up the toy giraffe, which looked like it had seen better days, before turning to Stockinette. “Stocky, Uncle Draco and I’ve got to run an errand. We’ll be back this evening. Uncle Ron will be over to feed you lunch and dinner in case I’m not back by then, okay? I love you so much.”

Stockinette swished her tail in response, and her bright blue eyes narrowed at Harry.

“ _Uncle Draco_?” Draco asked, crossing his arms.

Harry shrugged, smirking. “You’re over enough that she ought to learn your name.”

Draco let out a weary sigh, and he rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Let’s get this on with.”

Grinning, Harry said, “sounds good. Grab the Portkey on the count of three. _One, two, three_!”

Draco’s hand latched onto the Portkey, and they were sucked into the air. Harry felt the far too familiar feeling of being hooked by his middle and pulled through time, his body warping in ways that he preferred not to think about.

Before he knew it, he was stumbling onto the wet ground. Draco landed on top of him, knocking all air out of his lungs.

“Merlin, Malfoy,” Harry coughed, shoving Draco off of him. “Did you _have_ to land on me?”

“Oh, _don’t_ go blaming me! You were the one who fell under me!” Draco huffed, standing up and brushing himself off before glancing around. “Potter, _why_ are we in a soggy field?”

Harry also stood, casting a quick _Scourgify_ on the muddy knees of his jeans. “The port is just on the other side of that hill. Come on, let’s go.”

Draco grumbled throughout the entire trek, which took no longer than ten minutes. However, Harry had to admit that the wet soil and dew dropped grass of the field, in combination with the upwards climb of the hill and beginning of a rainstorm, was enough to make him a little grumpy.

By the time they reached the port, Harry could see a line of white ferries in the deep blue water. A large printed sign hung above the entrance, displaying different routes and times. Harry’s eyes landed on the line reading, _GALWAY TO INIS MÓRE - DEPARTS AT 9:25._

“Alright. We’ve got,” Harry began, glancing at his wrist watch, “ten minutes to buy our tickets.”

They queued up in the far left line, which was the shortest by far, and managed to board the ferry at 9:20. Harry led Draco up the stairs and onto the second level, where they looked around for seating.

“There,” Draco said, pointing to a table next to a window on the left hand side of the ferry.

Once they’d taken their seats across from one another at the table, Harry pulled out his yarn and needles and began to cast on the beginning of his one-hundred and twenty-one stitches. He’d occasionally look up and see Draco staring intently at his fingers.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” Harry asked, pausing after finishing his stitch.

“To be able to knit so _naturally_ ,” Draco said softly. “Watching you … it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Even my mother isn’t as good as you, and she’s been knitting for thirty-five years.”

Harry sighed, setting down his knitting on the table. “I ... don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought, I guess. It’s like there’s this bind between my fingers, the yarn, and my needles. Knitting is something I don’t need to think about. It just is.”

Draco nodded slowly. “How long did it take for you to get good at it?”

“About a year, I’d say. I know I’ve told you before that the first few months were rough ― like, really rough. I was dropping stitches left and right, and my tension was all over the place. Hermione really had to work with me on that. My second project, a beanie, looked more like a cone. I think the first properly successful thing I made was a triangle shawl. It's navy blue, and I still wear it on occasion,” Harry said before noticing that Draco looked uneasy. “Why?”

Draco let out a heavy breath. “I’ve just ― well, have you ever had that feeling where you’re just not good at anything?”

Harry offered him a sympathetic smile, remembering all of those years at Privet Drive. “Yeah. Is that what you feel like?”

“I suppose,” Draco said sheepishly. “I’ve never had a thing, you know? Something that’s a part of me.”

“What about Potions?” Harry asked. “You were always brilliant at it.”

Draco huffed a dry laugh. “Yeah, I was alright. I don’t know, I’ve never considered Potions.”

“You should talk to Hermione about it. I’m sure she’d know a few people at the Ministry looking for apprentices,” Harry said.

Draco’s shoulders dropped. “I don’t know, Potter. I haven’t practiced Potions in years. What if I’m pants at it?”

Harry shook his head. “You won’t be. I know you, Draco. This is something you’re _really_ good at.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “You called me Draco.”

“Oh,” Harry said, heat rising to his cheeks. “Well, considering the fact that we’ve seen each other nearly every day in December so far, I figure it’s time we ought to start calling each other by our first names.”

Draco leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in amusement as a smirk spread across his face. “Alright then, _Harry_.”

Harry blushed further, warmth coursing through his body at the sound of his name on Draco’s tongue. Looking at him, Harry couldn’t help but long for lazy mornings in bed with him, saying his name over and over again until it no longer sounded like a word.

“ … Harry?”

Harry startled. “Oh. Sorry. Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just anxious to get there,” Harry lied as he began to pick up his knitting again. “I’m really excited to see _Lumos_ ’ new collection, which is called Cróga ― Irish for brave. It’s fingering weight and should be amazing for mosaic work. The owners are a couple, Oisín and Laoise. Just a heads up that Oisín is agender and uses the pronouns they/them.”

“Alright. Do you do a lot of business with them?” Draco asked, not batting an eye at Oisín's pronouns.

“Yeah, I’d say so. _Lumos_ is a pretty popular brand, so I have to collect inventory from them relatively often. I usually have it sent to the shop, but Laoise invited me to see their new merino sheep. I’ve never been, so it’ll be interesting to see what the farm looks like,” Harry said.

Draco made a face. “I was never particularly fond of sheep. I had an … incident with one when I was eight.”

Harry snorted. “What happened?”

“I was with my father at a, well, _meeting_ in the countryside. He had me play outside so that I couldn’t hear anything, and there were sheep. I went up to one, and the bastard jumped on me. I had hoof prints on my coat,” Draco said sourly.

“Right. Well, I promise I’ll protect you from any mean sheep,” Harry said, grinning.

Draco rolled his eyes. “ _My prince_.”

☙☙☙

Once having landed on Inis Mór, they Apparated to a small village located on the northwest part of the island. As they gathered their bearings, dusting off any dirt from their particularly uneasy landings, Harry realized that they were standing in front of a long gravel driveway. In the distance, he could make out a large white farmhouse nestled in between luscious green hills that were dotted with sheep and cows. The rain had turned into a steady downpour, and there was a fierce wind blowing bitterly from the north. Harry watched longingly as plumes of black smoke rose from the house’s chimney.

“Come on,” Draco shouted over the wind, “I’m getting soaked!”

They began to run down the driveway, Harry occasionally skidding on the slick gravel. By the time they made it to the front of the house, they were both completely soaked through. As Harry led the way up to the porch and knocked, Draco cast a Drying Charm on them. A wave of relief immediately washed over Harry, and he no longer felt as though he was freezing from the inside out.

After a few moments, Laoise opened the door. She looked the same as she always did: strawberry blonde hair pulled up in a messy knot, beautiful vintage clothes hanging off of her large frame, and a wide smile that reached her rich brown eyes.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you again,” Laoise said, pulling Harry in for a brief hug before turning her attention to Draco. “And you must be Draco, Harry’s friend. He wrote us last night saying you were tagging along. Why don’t you two come on in? You must be freezing out here.”

Harry and Draco followed Laoise into the house, and Harry nearly sighed in relief as warmth from the radiators and fire in the hearth began to seep into his numb fingertips.

They entered the kitchen, where Oisín was seated at a small, round table. Their curly, caramel colored hair was shorter than the last time Harry had seen them, and they had a new tattoo on the side of their neck. Harry watched the tattoo as it came to life, a hippogriff spreading its sterling wings.

Oisín looked up from the newspaper they were reading and stood up, grinning. They pulled Harry into a tight hug, patting him on the back.

“I’m so excited you’re here, Harry!” they said, pulling back from the hug. “And you too, Draco. Any friend of Harry’s is a friend of ours.”

“Thanks for having me. Your farm is beautiful,” Draco said.

“You’re too kind,” Laoise said, gesturing for them to take a seat at the table. “I was just about to put the kettle on. Do either of you want tea or coffee?”

“I’d love some coffee,” Harry said.

Draco nodded. “And I’ll take tea. Thank you.”

“Of course!” Laoise said, beaming as she flicked the switch on the kettle.

“So, Draco,” Oisín began, “how long have you and Harry been dating?”

“Oh,” Draco said, blushing, “no, we’re not together. We’re just friends.”

Harry’s stomach churned, and he could feel heat rising to his cheeks. He quickly glanced down at the table, avoiding Draco’s gaze.

“My bad,” Oisín said, frowning. “I just presumed from the way Harry described you last night.”

Harry wished the floor would swallow him right then and there.

“No harm done,” Draco said dismissively. “Harry and I know each other from Hogwarts. We were in the same year, although we’ve only recently become friends. Where did you go to school?”

“I lived in France when I was younger, so I went to Beauxbatons. Laoise is a Squib, so she was homeschooled,” Oisín said.

“Ah, I see. And how long have you and Harry done business together?”

Laoise turned around, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Since he first opened The Whomping Willow Woolery. We knew Harry was going to be successful from the start. There’s just something special about him.”

Harry let out an embarrassed laugh. “You’re one to talk, Laoise. You and Oisín have been in business for what, two years? And you’ve already gathered a huge following. You’re easily one of the most popular yarn brands out there.”

“It’s still pretty strange, to be honest. Laoise and I never imagined we’d be doing so well for ourselves _selling yarn_ ,” Oisín said.

As they continued to talk about their companies, Laoise brought over the tea, coffee, and a plate of pumpkin pasties. Time passed quickly, and before Harry knew it, eleven o’clock had rolled around.

“Alright, we’ve got to sheer some of our sheep in an hour, so why don’t we give you a tour of our merinos?” Laoise said.

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said.

Draco made a face. “Yes, I … suppose that works.”

After Oisín cleared the table with a wave of their wand, the four of them exited the house via the back door. The rain hadn’t relented in the hour that had passed, and a crack of lightning lit up the charcoal colored sky.

Luckily, they didn’t have to walk very far in order to see the sheep. As the four of them stood underneath the back porch’s awning, Harry watched as sheep grazed a few meters away. Beautiful, cream colored wool in need of shearing hung heavily off of their frames, and Harry knew that they were going to produce fantastic fiber.

“So, what do you think?” Laoise asked.

“They’re amazing,” Harry said, awestruck. “Do you still have your old sheep?”

Oisín nodded, pointing to a particular sheep that was milling nearby. “Yep. See that one? Her name is Curry, and she’s one of our oldest Shetland sheep. We’ve still got around ten of them left.”

As though on cue, Curry looked up, blinking at them before beginning to wander over. Draco took a cautious step back, causing Harry to snicker and earning him a scowl.

“Not a fan of sheep, Draco?” Laoise asked as she knelt down, petting Curry.

“I was attacked by one when I was a child. And, quite frankly, I don’t trust their rectangular pupils,” Draco said, frowning.

Oisín let out a bark of laughter, and they patted Draco reassuringly on the back. “Don’t worry, there’s no pressure to say hi to her. Harry, do you want to grab a handful of grass and feed it to her?”

“Sure,” Harry said, nodding as he bent down and fisted a cluster of grass.

Standing up again, he slowly approached Curry. She wearily eyed him as he began to hold out the grass before deciding that hunger won out over suspicious strangers. She took a few steps forward and started eating the grass, her lips tickling against the palm of Harry’s hand.

“Well, I suppose we ought to show you your new inventory,” Laoise said.

Harry nodded. “That’d be great. I’ve been dying to see your new collection.”

“Cróga is probably my favorite thing we’ve done so far,” Oisín said, holding the back door open for everyone as they trekked inside. “You’re one of the first shops to have it, and I’ll admit that I’m rather nervous about how the public likes it.”

“I’m sure people are going to love it,” Harry said.

“Merlin, I hope so,” Oisín said, gesturing for them to follow. “This way. Your boxes are in our office.”

Harry and Draco were led into a relatively small room in the back of the house, which was filled to the brim with large cardboard boxes. Laoise pulled down two boxes from the top of a stack in the right corner of the room, plopping them down in front of Harry and opening the flaps. Inside were several dye lots of different colored fingering yarn. All of the skeins were rich in color, ranging from deep forest green to a light seafoam, and they contained white and grey speckles. Another color that jumped out at him was a burnt orange, its smokiness making it pop against the rest of the skeins.

“They’re beautiful,” Draco murmured.

“Thank you, Draco,” Laoise said, beaming. “We’re pretty proud of them.”

“Do the colors have names?” Draco asked, peering further into the box on the right and causing Harry to grin.

Oisín nodded. “Yeah, they do. The orange is Laoch, the green is Eachtránaí, the light blue is Claíomh …”

As Oisín continued to list off twenty more colors, Harry looked to Draco, who was staring intently at the different colors. He had the same look on his face that he'd often had during class at Hogwarts, as though he was channeling all of his concentration into this one thing. It was oddly endearing watching Draco learn about an entirely new skill and the world surrounding it, and Harry felt much like he was watching a child on Christmas morning. There was a gleam of curiosity in Draco’s pale grey eyes, and Harry wanted nothing more than to make Draco look like that all the time.

☙☙☙

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Draco shrunk the two boxes to pocket-size and bid their goodbyes, promising to come back to the farm soon. As they made their way down the driveway, Harry felt a twist of dread in his stomach. He wasn’t ready for today’s adventure to be over.

Once they reached the end of the driveway, Harry paused.

“Want to go to Dublin for the rest of the afternoon?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “What, you want to just pop on over?”

Harry shrugged. “Why not? Do you have anything else to do today?”

“No,” Draco said, sighing. “Alright. Let’s go to Dublin, then.”

Harry held out his arm, and Draco took hold of it. Then, without warning, they began twisting violently through the air, eventually landing hard on the ground. While Harry brushed himself off, Draco looked onto the main road.

“I’ve never been to Dublin, you know,” he said.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really? I’ve got a merchant here, so I’ve been a few times. It’s a beautiful city, and you’re going to love it. I’ve actually got a Muggle place for lunch in mind, if you’re interested?”

Draco shrugged. “Why not?”

They made their way out of the alley and onto Grafton Street, which was filled with shoppers, street musicians singing Christmas carols, and flower vendors. The air was heavy with rain, although it had stopped lashing for the time being, and a strong wind was rolling over the city. Glittering lights hung above the street from buildings on either side, and the words _Nollaig Shona Duit_ were spelled out in golden letters. The outside of Brown Thomas, a nice department store, was covered in a thick blanket of green leaves that were studded with Christmas lights. Its windows were lit up with Christmas displays, and a small crowd had stopped to admire them.

They passed by an ice cream shop named Gino’s, and the air surrounding it was sweet with the rich smell of chocolate, cream, and fresh waffles. Continuing up the street, Harry noticed that Draco was unusually quiet.

“You okay?” he asked.

Draco blinked at him, slightly startled. “Yes, sorry. I was just admiring everything. It’s beautiful ― and so different from London, but in a good way."

“Yeah, it is. I’ve never been here in the winter, so this is my first time seeing the decorations. They’re amazing,” Harry said.

The rest of their walk was quiet, and Harry led them to Bewley’s, a cafe and company known for their teas. Inside was warm, and Harry could feel his fingers beginning to thaw out as they wandered up to the host.

“Morning,” the host said before glancing down at his watch. “Or, rather, good afternoon, since it’s almost noon. How many?”

“Two,” Harry said, smiling.

“Alright. This way,” the host said, leading them past the glass case nearly overflowing with baked goods and into the sitting area, which was filled with tables and booths.

While there had been a small line for the bakery, the rest of the restaurant was jam-packed with people seeking shelter from the cold. The host showed them to a small, two person booth in the back corner of the restaurant, giving them a surprisingly decent amount of privacy. As they took a seat across from one another, Harry realized just how hungry he was.

Picking up the laminated menu, he began to skim over his options. “Is anything jumping out at you?”

Draco hummed in thought as he read over his own menu. “The tomato soup with brown bread and butter sounds particularly lovely.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “I was thinking the same thing. I’ve got to admit that I’m also eyeing the lemon tart.”

“Where is that?” Draco asked, frowning at his menu.

Harry reached across the table, pointing to the dessert section. As he was pulling his hand away, his fingers brushed with Draco’s, and a wave of warmth rushed over him. He reluctantly moved his fingers away, stuffing them in his lap in an attempt to drown out the urge to hold Draco’s hand.

“Huh. Alright, I’ll go for that as well.”

A few minutes later, a waitress showed up to take their order. Harry and Draco had agreed to share a pot of tea, which both of them seemed desperate for.

As the waitress left, Harry took out his knitting and began to work more on his cowl.

“So,” Draco began, draping a napkin across his lap, “are you dating anyone?”

Harry, who was mid drink of water, sucked it down his windpipe and began to cough. “I―I’m sorry?”

“Are you dating anyone?”

“Merlin, _that_ came out of nowhere,” Harry said, letting out a nervous laugh as he looked down at the table.

“Do keep up, Harry,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I’m just making small talk.”

“Right,” Harry said, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Um, well, no. I’m single, although I wouldn’t mind a partner. How about you?”

“I’m in the same boat. I haven’t seen anyone since my last boyfriend, who I dated for a few months three years ago. He was my one and only relationship after Astoria died.”

Harry blinked. _Did he just say boyfriend?_

“Boyfriend?” he asked. “Are you … gay?”

Draco nodded stiffly. “Yeah, I am.”

“Oh,” Harry said, dumbfounded. “Well, I’m bisexual.”

He watched as Draco’s face lit up, and his smile reached his eyes.

“I never would’ve pinned you for someone who isn’t straight,” Draco said.

Harry shrugged. “Same with you. How long have you been out?”

“For about four years now, although only the people I’m closest to know. What about you? Have you had an accepting experience?”

“I came out to my friends pretty soon after the war, and everyone was really kind about it. Hermione immediately bought me a bunch of books on being LGBT, which I still have yet to read. It wasn’t that big of a deal, though, since my mental health was declining fairly quickly at that point. Everyone had bigger things to worry about, I guess. What’s your experience been like?” Harry asked.

“It took Mother some convincing. When I told her, she became pretty upset and refused to talk with me for a week. I’d practically given up when she suddenly came to me, apologizing for how she reacted. She told me that while she was still not sure about it, she’d love and support me no matter what,” Draco said.

“Are things better with her now? You two seem so close,” Harry said.

“Yeah,” Draco said, letting out a soft laugh, “things are much better. She’s become very enthusiastic about trying to match me up with men.”

Harry snorted. “And how’s that going for you?”

“Haven’t found anyone yet. I guess I’m just waiting for someone special,” Draco said.

“Yeah,” Harry said softly. “Me too.”


	12. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm an absolute nitwit, I totally forgot to wish you all a happy Hanukkah last update!! I hope everyone who is celebrating has been having a wonderful (and safe) time filled with love and lots of good food. 
> 
> Now, moving on. *Prepares for all of the yelling I'm about to receive in my inbox from this chapter.*
> 
> Next chapter comes out: Monday, Dec. 14th

Two days later, Harry could be found staring out of his bedroom window, watching the pale evening sky dissolve into a dusky lilac. Stars began to dot different constellations across the stratosphere, and a large silver moon hung low against the growing darkness.

Next to him, Stockinette was perched on top of the dresser, busying herself by meticulously cleaning her paws. Harry gave her a scratch behind her ears, which earned him a gentle head-butt that signaled a request for more.

As he stood there, watching the sun sink completely over the lull of Diagon Alley, he began to mull over his evening plans. When he’d arranged to play a match of Quidditch with Draco a week ago, he’d only just come to terms with his feelings for him. Now, here he was, completely addicted to Draco's presence. Harry knew his flying wasn’t as good as it had been at Hogwarts; he was more than a little rusty, and it certainly didn’t help that his gaze would more than likely be stuck on Draco throughout the entire game. However, he was set on not losing, and he could feel a quiet fire of determination begin to burn in the pit of his stomach.

Scooping Stockinette into his arms, Harry carried her out into the living room and plopped down on the couch. She quickly wriggled her way out of his arms, making a beeline for the back of the couch. There, her lanky silver body spread out, and she silently fell asleep.

Harry glanced down at his wrist watch, which read 3:57, and winced. Draco would be arriving any minute, and the sheer knowledge of that sent a wave of anxiety through him. Not sure if Draco was going to be wearing something casual for flying or actual Quidditch gear didn’t help Harry’s fears either, especially as he’d gone on to dress only in a yellow hoodie, grey joggers, and ratty trainers that had seen better days.

The minutes passed by like ice moving along at a glacial pace. By the time 4:01 rolled around, Harry had taken to pacing across the length of his living room, occasionally mumbling to himself about how it would all be fine.

It wasn’t until the fireplace erupted into a gust of bright green flames that Harry felt distracted enough to get ahold of himself.

_This game is no different from the ones we played at Hogwarts,_ he silently told himself. _Get a bloody grip and quit being so obvious._

As Draco stepped out of the Floo, Harry did a double take. Draco wasn’t wearing his usual smart jumper and tight trousers, but was instead clad in an outfit rather similar to Harry’s. He had on a wooly jumper that had patches on the elbows and classy black joggers that must have cost him at least thirteen Galleons. However, in his right hand was his old, familiar Nimbus 2001.

“Like what you see?”

Harry blinked, startled, and could feel his cheeks burning. “I ― sorry, what?”

Draco let out a light laugh, rolling his eyes. “Relax, Harry. I was just messing.”

“I’ve never seen you so … _dressed down_ ,” Harry said, arching an eyebrow.

Draco shrugged. “I’m not particularly interested in ruining perfectly nice clothing for a game of Quidditch. This is just what I wear when I garden with my mother.”

“Oh,” Harry said bluntly. “Right. Well, do you have someplace in mind for flying?”

“There’s this pond I used to go to when I’d practice flying over holidays, and I was thinking we could go there. How does that sound?” Draco asked as he began to stroke Stockinette’s back.

“Brilliant,” Harry said, nodding as he wandered over to the wide window. “You lead the way, then.”

After propping the window open, Draco climbed through it and sat with his bum on the ledge as he held his broom out underneath him. Before Harry could ask if he was all set, he pushed himself off of the ledge, dropping out of sight.

Harry instinctively rushed to the window, although his fears were immediately rectified. Draco shot up out of the fall with a gust of speed and leveled himself with the window. Harry stood, breathless, as Draco hovered in front of him. He looked so similar to the boy Harry had grown up with, and yet he was, at the same time, an entirely different person. Gone was the slicked hair and pointy sneer, replaced by a soft, lopsided smile and bright eyes that twinkled with excitement.

“Coming?” Draco asked, grinning.

Harry returned the smile as he grabbed the cheap replacement broom, which he’d bought after losing his Firebolt during the war, off its propped position against the wall. Sliding out of the window, he looked down for a moment to watch all of the wixen passersby. Then, taking a deep breath, he took the leap.

Wind rushed up below him as he hurtled to the fast approaching ground. Halfway down, he managed to shove his broom beneath him and pull out of the dive, swiftly coming to a stop next to Draco.

Through the window, Harry could see Stockinette glaring at him from her perch on the couch.

“She looks absolutely furious,” Draco said.

Harry nodded. “She is. I’ll have to give her lots of love when we get back.”

“Fair enough,” Draco said.

Harry scooted closer to the side of the building, slowly taking his hands off of the broom handle before leaning over and shutting the window. Then, he turned to Draco.

“Ready?”

“Yep. Follow me,” Draco said, steering his broom so that he was facing west. “It’s an hour ride to Wiltshire.”

☙☙☙

The journey to Wiltshire was full of bitter gusts of winds and stars twinkling above in the deep black sky. Harry’s gloved fingers were going numb, and no matter how many times he blinked, his eyes refused to stop watering. He had to admit that the ride was beautiful, though. Inner city busyness had quickly dissolved into quiet neighborhoods and eventually empty country roads that gave way to expansive fields, forests, and streams.

Surrounded in the darkness, Harry truly had no semblance of where he was. It was nice, to some degree, being able to imagine that he could be anywhere in the world. However, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he could care less where he was, as long as he was with Draco.

A while later, Draco briefly glanced back and shouted, “look down!”

Harry did, and what he saw was breathtaking. A glittering black pond shone below, it’s glassy waters reflecting silver drops of moonlight. Surrounding the pond was a perimeter of pine trees, whose bodies cast long shadows over the earth.

Once they’d landed and brushed off any stray, frozen soil that had skidded up during impact, Harry looked to Draco. His cheeks and nose were bright red from the cold, and his hair was slightly mussed from the wind as he looked around and let out a heavy sigh.

“Brings back memories,” Draco murmured, walking to the edge of the frosty shore.

“Yeah?” Harry asked, joining him.

Draco nodded. “Yes. Merlin, I spent so much time here as a child. It was the one place where I could lose myself. Did you have somewhere like that?”

“Yeah,” Harry said quietly, “Hogwarts.”

Draco turned to him, his eyes solemn, and gave him a weak smile. “Well, thankfully it’s all in the past. Now, how about we start our game?”

“Sounds good. Do you have the Snitch?” Harry asked.

“ _Obviously_ , Harry,” Draco stuffed his hand into his coat pocket before pulling out a small, golden sphere. “I’ll let it go on the count of three. Ready?”

Harry nodded.

“One, two, three!”

Harry watched as Draco’s long, pale fingers let go of the Snitch, whose thin, papery wings shot it high into the sky. Then, as it disappeared behind a cluster of dark clouds drifting in the wind, Draco gave Harry a smile.

“Get ready to have your arse kicked, Potter.”

Harry grinned at the usage of his surname.

“Nice try.”

Then, they took off.

☙☙☙

By the time they got back to Harry’s flat, they were both drenched in clammy sweat. As Harry leaned his broom against the wall of his living room, he let out an exhausted yawn.

“Did I work you too hard, Harry?” Draco teased, doing the same with his broom before plopping down on the couch.

Almost immediately Stockinette woke up, stretched, and settled in Draco’s lap.

“Ha-ha,” Harry said dryly as he briefly wandered into the kitchen, only to return a moment later with a takeaway menu in hand. “Listen, you only won because I haven’t been on a broom in forever.”

Draco smirked, patting the cushion next to him. “You’re a sore loser, aren’t you?”

Harry’s cheeks flushed as he sat down. “Am not.”

“I agree to disagree,” Draco said, raising an eyebrow. “You know I’m never going to let you live this down, right?”

Harry snorted. “Don’t worry, _I know_.”

“Good,” Draco huffed, leaning forward to pick up the takeaway menu from the coffee table before leaning back into the couch. “Now, let’s order some food to celebrate my win, shall we?”

☙☙☙

Their Chinese food arrived via owl an hour later, which Harry was eternally grateful for given how hungry he was. After retrieving plates from the kitchen and sinking back into the couch, Harry began to split their shared sesame chicken, steamed rice, and spring rolls. Stockinette, becoming rather curious herself, nimbly hopped from Draco’s lap to the coffee table, where she proceeded to delicately sniff the food being served.

“Stocky, I promise you won’t like it,” Harry insisted, placing her on the ground.

Draco snorted as he took his plate. “That’s a fat lie.”

Harry glanced up, shooting him a look as he took his first bite. “ _I_ know that, but _she_ doesn’t.”

“Right,” Draco said, letting out a light laugh, “well, cheers to us for playing our first Quidditch game in years.”

“Go us,” Harry said through a mouthful of chicken. “So, did you bring your scarf?”

Draco let out a painful groan. “Yes. Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever seen something so ugly. Honestly, Harry, the color is hideous. Why did you even put out bright orange yarn to begin with?”

“With hopes that you’d be stuck with it,” Harry said, smirking. 

“Bastard,” Draco mumbled, shoving him lightly in the shoulder.

Harry sniggered. “Well, why don’t I take a look at it after dinner?”

“Fine, fine,” Draco said dismissively. “Anyway, how’s the shop been? I know I haven’t stopped over in a little bit.”

“Things are busy, but good. My customers seem to really be enjoying all of the decorations we put up. I get comments everyday on the toy train you set out,” Harry said, grinning at the memory before turning more solemn. “I’ve missed you being there, though.”

Draco gave him a soft smile in return. “I have too. Mother’s been busy getting things ready for the Christmas Ball, so I’ve been helping her out with the planning portion of the order. Kingsley is convinced that this is going to be the best ball yet, so we’re really having to go all out this year. My mother hasn’t been this stressed in years.”

“I’m sorry about Kingsley,” Harry said, frowning, “although I’m sure he’s been good for business. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, actually. How would you feel about coming over on the 20th to help us put together some arrangements?” Draco asked.

nodded. “Sure. I’d be up for that. What kinds of arrangements are there going to be?”

Draco sighed, absently resting his fork on his plate. “Lots of pine and holly wreaths, for starters. We’re also in charge of procuring and decorating the Christmas tree that’s to go in the center of the ballroom. We’ll have to _Engorgio_ the tree in order to make it fit Kingsley’s request.”

“ … Which is?” Harry asked.

“He wants the bloody tree to reach the ceiling, which should be interesting considering the fact that it’s six and a half meters tall.”

Harry grimaced. “Merlin. Well, I’d be happy to help with whatever you need.”

“Thanks,” Draco said wearily. “I imagine Mother will have you work on the tree while we do the more intricate work, like individual bouquets and wreaths. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Harry said, nodding. “By the way, how would you feel about me dropping by on Christmas Day to give you your presents?"

Draco skeptically quirked an eyebrow. “As in, presents for _me_?”

Harry let out a light laugh. “Yes, presents for _you_.”

“Well,” Draco began, “alright. That sounds fine. It’ll give me time to give you your presents, too.”

“Oh,” Harry said, shifting so that he could see Draco more head-on. “Draco, you didn’t have to get me anything. You know that, right?”

Draco frowned, setting his half-eaten plate on the coffee table. “I know, Potter. This wasn’t anything out of obligation.”

Harry let out a heavy sigh. “Right. Well, thank you. What time should I come over?”

“Midday?” Draco said before his demeanor changed, softening. “Mother will be very pleased to see you. I don’t doubt that she likes the way our Christmases are now, but I think she still winds up a bit lonely every year. I imagine you coming will make her day. Would ― would you be willing to stay for an hour or two? I realize you’ve got Christmas with the Weasleys, and I don’t want to interrupt that, but ―”

Harry paused, also setting down his plate before looking intently at Draco. He was struck by the vulnerability in Draco’s voice, and there was something akin to fear lingering in his words that caused Harry’s own heart to break in two.

Cautiously, he scooted closer to Draco. “I’d be more than happy to stay a while.”

Draco closed his eyes, wearily rubbing them before looking back up. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

Instinctively, Harry took both of Draco’s cold hands in his own and immediately began sinking into the sensation of skin on skin. “Draco … you’ve somehow become one of the most important people in my life over the past fifteen days, and, quite frankly, I feel like Christmas wouldn’t _be_ Christmas without seeing you.”

Draco blinked at him earnestly. “You mean that?”

Harry let out a soft pitter of laughter. “Of course I mean it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been trying to find every excuse to hang out with you. I just can’t stop thinking about all of the years we wasted hating each other.”

“No, I think those years were important,” Draco murmured, looking down at their hands intertwined. “Without them, we wouldn’t be where we are.”

Staring at Draco, whose pale skin was flushed in the dim amber glow coming from the living room lamp, Harry felt a wave of courage coursing through him, and he realized that if he didn’t say something right here, right now, then he never would.

Harry slowly removed his right hand from where it had been resting on Draco’s and moved it upwards, cupping Draco’s cheek. The softness and warmth of his face underneath Harry’s calloused fingers was addicting, and although Draco’s pale pewter eyes had gone wide with skepticism, Harry reassured himself that he was making the right decision.

_If not now, when?_

“Draco,” Harry began, his voice barely above a soft whisper, “I … I have something to tell you.”

“Oh. Okay,” Draco said, a look of uneasiness shifting across his face. “What is it?”

Harry took in a deep, shuddering breath. “Have you ever felt tethered to someone, as though there was a string connecting the two of you together? It’s like I’m on a yarn winder, and no matter how fast or slow I’m spinning, the other person is winding the exact same way.”

Draco’s eyes flicked upwards, catching Harry’s. “Yes, I know the feeling. Who are you winding with?”

“You, Draco,” Harry murmured, his heart thudding against his chest. “I’m winding with you.”

Draco shifted forward, one hand moving to Harry’s chest and the other to the nape of Harry’s neck. “Well, that’s awfully convenient.”

Harry swallowed thickly. “Why?”

“Because I’m winding with you too.”

Draco’s words echoed in Harry’s ears, repeating over and over again until they nearly lost meaning. Sitting so close to Draco, Harry could make out things that he’d never quite noticed before: his eyelashes the color of white gold, a dark spot on the bottom left of his blush colored lips, and the barely visible trail of sand colored freckles dotting the bridge of his sharp nose.

And, instantaneously, Harry knew that none of this had been a sudden, spur-of-the-moment development. He’d been, in fact, falling in love with Draco Malfoy for years. One of his most painful memories, that of the Astronomy Tower all those years ago, crossed his mind, and he realized that he’d seen then the same version of Draco that he was seeing now; scared, and with a lot to lose.

The warmth from Draco’s palm felt steady against Harry’s chest, reassuring him that this was real ― that Draco was here, in his flat, saying that he felt the same way.

Harry leaned forward, their foreheads pressed together, and let out a soft breath. “May I kiss you?”

Pulling back just enough so that they could look at each other again, Draco reached up and gently took off Harry’s glasses, placing them on the table. “Now you can.”

Their movements weren’t rushed, instead coming together with a softness that Harry hadn’t expected. As their lips met, Harry could feel the rest of the world fall away. The only thing that mattered was right in front of him.

It wasn’t fireworks, as first kisses were so often described in Muggle media. Instead, kissing Draco was like a thousand beating wings rushing towards the sun, a vibrant warmth spreading through his chest as they held each other close. There was a certain comfort in Draco’s slightly chapped lips, as though Harry had known and been intimate with them for years now. He supposed he had, to a degree, having memorized the form of Draco’s lips from all the way across the Great Hall throughout his time at Hogwarts.

In some ways, it was just like coming home.

“Harry,” Draco whispered, “is this okay?"

Harry nodded. “More than okay. Come here.”

They rearranged themselves so that Draco was leaning into Harry, his head resting on Harry’s chest. Wrapping his arm around Draco’s shoulders, Harry drew him closer and placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. With his free hand, he began to card his fingers through Draco’s hair.

For once, he no longer had to simply wonder what Draco would feel like ― skin, hair, lips, and all.

“This is a … strange development,” Draco said, snorting.

“Feels like a long time coming, doesn’t it?” Harry asked.

Draco tilted his chin so that he was looking directly at Harry. “Yeah? You think so?”

Harry nodded, smiling softly at him. “I’ve been in love with you for years, Draco. It just took you walking into my shop for me to realize it.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

☙☙☙

As Harry lazily flicked through the television channels a few hours later, he found himself watching Draco fall asleep next to him, his soft breaths quickly turning into abhorrent snores. Harry had never pinned Draco as a snorer, although he supposed there were a lot of things he still had to learn about him.

And he was ready for it all.


	13. The Magic Is in the Rink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW - smut! Easily skippable and towards the end of the chapter! Also, very mild angst! But like, VERY mild! No fretting is needed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second to last update! I'm absolutely dreading Wednesday, but I'm also super excited for you all to read the ending! Thank you so much for continuing on this fluffy journey with me <3
> 
> Last update goes up: Wednesday, Dec. 16th

Harry woke up to the sharp sound of something hitting against his bedroom window. As he groggily looked around, wiping sleep from the corners of his eyes, he realized that Colette, Draco’s owl, was directing rather impatient hoots his way. With a heavy groan, he reluctantly peeled back the covers and sat up, making sure to not disturb Stockinette, who was fast asleep on the other pillow. After a minute of adjusting to the frigid, early morning air, he slinked over to the window and let Colette in.

Harry stood back as Colette made her way into the room, choosing to perch on the edge of his bedside table. Her cream colored feathers were once again slick with rain water, which she promptly shook off to the best of her ability. Harry grimaced as water flew everywhere, including his glasses, and untied the letter from her ankle. The sight of Draco’s handwriting made his heart flutter, although, at the same time, he found himself feeling rather anxious.

It had been six days since they’d kissed, and Harry hadn’t heard a word since. He’d been so sure that their time together had ended on a positive note, as Draco has given Harry a sleepy peck before stepping into the Floo after he’d woken up from his accidental nap. However, with the awkward radio silence that had since ensued, he was no longer so sure that things were alright between them. When he’d confided in Hermione and Ron about the predicament, they’d assured him that Draco probably just wanted to take things slow. Unfortunately, this did little to ease Harry’s worries.

He didn’t want to take things slow.

Harry looked down at the letter in his trembling hands, and a weary sigh escaped his lips. Before he could lose his nerve, he peeled open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

_Harry,_

_Hi, love. I’m sorry I’ve been a bit quiet since we, well ... kissed. I’m sure you’re thinking I’ve been avoiding you, but I promise that’s not the case._

_In all honesty, I haven’t had a chance to catch my breath since I stepped through the Floo on Saturday night. As you know, the Ministry’s Christmas Ball is tomorrow evening, and things at the Manor have been go-go-go because of it. I’ve been up to my ears in foliage, and I’m at my wit’s end._

_I know we’d arranged for you to come over to the Manor this evening to help with decorating the ballroom’s Christmas tree, but I was wondering if you’d be alright with meeting earlier (that is, if I haven’t mucked everything up by disappearing for a few days). I’ve cooked up a bit of a surprise for you that’ll need to happen before we begin decorating, so if you’re willing, please meet me at the Anise Café near Tower Hill at one o’clock. It should be easy enough to find._

_I’ve missed you over the past few days, Harry. A lot. I miss the shop, and I miss Stockinette, and I miss just being around you. I can’t stop thinking about you, and I keep replaying that kiss over and over again in my head._

_I know the simple things ― I love you, and you love me._

_But what are we?_

_Love,_

_Draco_

Harry sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes tracing Draco’s words over at least three times before setting the letter beside him on the duvet. Looking up, he saw that Colette was blinking at him with bright, hopeful eyes, somewhat reflective of how his mood had shifted since reading the letter. Draco’s words had managed to be a great comfort, although there was a lingering question that needed to be addressed.

_But what are we?_

They’d somehow managed to skip that discussion the other night, despite their love confessions and the soft way in which they’d said goodnight. Harry felt perplexed, although he knew in his heart what he wanted the answer to be.

Standing up, he quickly ran down the hall and into the kitchen, grabbed his spare supply of letter-writing equipment from a drawer next to the fridge, and then settled onto the couch in the living room. Pale, pewter colored light fell through the window, casting deep shadows across the cold wooden floor. Just as he was about to dip his quill in the ink pot, a sleepy Stockinette stumbled out of the hallway and headed in the direction of the couch, swiftly hopping onto the arm. Harry reached out his free hand, which she gently nuzzled.

“Morning, Stocky,” Harry said softly, scratching her quickly behind the ear before turning back to his bare parchment.

_Draco,_

_I’ll admit that you had me a bit worried, although I’m glad to know that everything’s fine. You haven’t left my mind once during these past few days, and it’s driving me crazy. You’re all I can think about._

_I’m rather curious about this surprise you have for me, and I’d be happy to meet you at Anise Café. In all honesty, I don’t have a single guess as to what it is you’ve got planned. I don’t trust that brain of yours._

_See you soon._

_Love,_

_Harry_

_P.S. Will you finally let me pay for our hot drinks?_

Content, Harry quickly tied the letter to Colette’s ankle before sending her back into the cold drizzle. Stockinette looked up, cocking her head to watch Colette fly off before stretching and then resettling onto Harry’s lap.

Grabbing the remote from its place on the coffee table, Harry leaned back into the couch and turned on the telly. As he flicked absently through the channels, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed that the Whomping Willow Woolery was closed, given that it was a Friday.

Looking at the clock, which read 7:15, he let out a groan.

☙☙☙

After taking an hour to decide on what to wear ― eventually landing on a rich purple jumper and blue jeans that were slightly ripped at the knees ― Harry ventured out into the bitterly cold early afternoon. The sky had changed to a clear, light blue, but the sun only provided so much warmth as Harry made his way to the closest tube station. Strong gusts of wind prompted him to tighten the knitted navy and gold triangle shawl around his neck, and he quickened his pace.

Once he’d arrived at the Tower Hill station on the East End of London, he hurried up the stairs that led him onto the road. As he wove his way in between Muggles, he spotted a wooden sign reading _Anise Café_ in the distance and crossed the road. Two minutes later, he arrived.

Harry had never been to this particular café, although it seemed relatively pleasant as he stepped inside, the warm smell of freshly baked rolls and sweet coffee filling his lungs. He scanned the crowd, searching for a particular glint of light blond hair.

Eventually, his eyes landed on Draco, who was scowling at his knitting. Harry’s heart leapt into his throat, and he could feel his pulse everywhere. He knew he’d desperately missed Draco over the past few days, but seeing him now, directly in front of him, was somehow indescribable. Perhaps it was because Harry knew what his lips were like, soft and sweet, or the way that Draco’s hair was perfect for running his fingers through.

No matter what it was, though, Draco was there, and so was Harry.

As Harry wandered over, Draco glanced up, and a hesitant smile bloomed across his face. Harry, taking the chair that was located on the opposite side of the table, dragged it next to Draco and took a seat.

“It’s good to see you,” Harry said quietly.

Draco set down his knitting, which looked more disastrous than it had the last time Harry had seen it. “You too. Harry, I’m really sorry for not writing sooner. I didn’t mean to scare you; I just couldn’t find the time ―”

“Hey,” Harry said softly, placing his hand gently over Draco’s, “it’s okay. You explained that you were busy, and that’s all that matters.”

“I haven’t ruined everything?” Draco asked meekly.

Harry let out a light laugh. “No, you haven’t ruined anything.”

“Right,” Draco said, grinning, “well, in that case, I suppose I ought to tell you what your surprise is.”

“Oh?” Harry asked cheekily, raising his eyebrows. “Please share.”

“Have you ever been ice skating?” Draco asked.

Harry paused, his mind working to connect the question to his surprise. Then, not a moment later, he remembered that there was an ice rink nearby called the Tower of London Ice Rink. He’d never been, although Dudley had plenty of times.

“Are we … going ice skating?” Harry asked, beaming.

Draco shrugged nonchalantly, although there was a smirk plastered on his face. “Maybe.”

“How did you even know about the Tower of London Ice Rink? That’s where we’re going, isn’t it ―?” Harry asked.

“Yes, it is. I wrote to Hermione saying I wanted to surprise you with something fun, and she suggested going ice skating here. I’ll admit, I don’t know the first thing about ice skating,” Draco said, laughing.

Harry grinned, warmed that Draco would think to ask Hermione, of all people, for advice. With a sudden burst of courage, he leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Draco’s forehead.

“Thank you,” he said softly, squeezing Draco’s hand. “I’ve never been ice skating, but I’ve always wanted to. This is absolutely perfect.”

Draco blushed, letting out an embarrassed laugh. “I’m glad.”

“Also,” Harry began, taking Draco’s hand in his own once again, “to answer your question from the letter, I don’t care what we are, Draco, as long as I’m with you.”

Draco sucked in a tight breath, looking up at him. “Really?”

“Really, although I do suppose I like the idea of dating. How does boyfriends sound to you?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded, a bright smile appearing. “Boyfriends sound good to me.”

☙☙☙

Their ice skating date was a disaster ― a true, magnificent disaster that resulted in what would likely be many bruises and a slightly deflated ego for Draco, who fell more times than Harry could count. Harry, however, wasn’t much better, and while he happily would’ve accepted help from a penguin skating aid, Draco outright refused to sink to that level, claiming that he “certainly did not need something meant for children.”

As they headed away from the rink and towards a deserted park, both of their trousers soggy and cold from having landed on the ice, Draco looked towards Harry, grinning. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, as were the tips of his ears, and there was something gut-wrenchingly wonderful about the fact that Harry himself had made Draco this happy.

“So, besides being criminally bad at skating, what did you think?” Draco asked.

Harry, astounded, let out a bark of laughter. “You think I’m bad? You should’ve seen yourself. You spent more time trying to get up from the ice than you did skating on it!”

Draco rolled his eyes as they stepped into the park, which was lined with barren trees and evergreen shrubs dotted with bright red berries. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Honestly,” Harry began, taking Draco’s hand, “I bet Teddy could’ve skated circles around us.”

“I’d like to see that,” Draco scoffed. “Now, you never answered my question.”

“Oh! Right. Well,” Harry said, pausing on the path and wrapping his arms around Draco’s neck, “I had a lovely time. Thank you for inviting me.”

Draco leaned in, looping his arms around Harry’s waist as he pressed their noses together. “Thank you for coming, Harry ― and thank you for being mine.”

“I’ll always be yours, love,” Harry murmured, taking a step forward so that their bodies were fully flushed. “Always.”

Harry couldn’t discern who started it, but suddenly Draco’s lips were on his and it was if everything had fallen into place. The kiss was warm, and Draco tasted like the salted caramel hot chocolate he’d ordered at Anise Café. And his arms ― _Merlin, his arms,_ Harry thought ― felt strong and sturdy around his waist, reassuring him that Draco wasn’t going anywhere.

After a minute or two, Harry pulled back, panting, and looked up at Draco, his heart pounding in his chest. “We’ve got some time before we’ve got to get to the Manor. Want to go back to mine?”

And that was all it took.

Draco promptly dragged him across the road to a back alleyway and, once ensuring that they were out of sight, Disapparated them back to Harry’s flat. As soon as their feet were back on the ground, Draco was shoving Harry against the living room wall, their lips urgently meeting as Harry’s arms resumed their position around Draco’s neck. Harry could feel that he was steadily growing hard, his erection pressing tightly against the zipper of his jeans.

Draco began to toy with the hem of Harry’s jumper, lifting it up just enough to run his fingers over Harry’s hips and abdomen. Harry leaned into the touch as he broke their lips apart, instead leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on Draco’s neck. Draco, in turn, began to card his fingers through Harry’s curls, desperately tugging their bodies together.

“Fuck, Draco,” Harry murmured, moving to kiss along Draco’s jawline.

Draco let out a huffy, out of breath laugh as he tilted his head back. “Are you always this articulate?”

“Fuck you,” Harry laughed.

“That’s the plan,” Draco said, his hand slowly snaking down to cup Harry’s bulge as their eyes made contact. “May I?”

“ _Please_.”

Draco took a step back before sinking to his knees. The sight alone nearly sent Harry over the edge, having wishfully played this scene over and over in his head for the past few weeks. He’d never thought that they would actually be here, in his flat, having sex.

“I should warn you,” Harry said, temporarily stilling Draco’s hand, which had come very close to unzipping his jeans, “I’ve only ever done … _this_ with Ginny.”

Draco looked up, blinking steadily before he offered Harry a soft smile. “Don’t worry. We can go slow.”

Harry nodded, removing his hand from Draco’s. “Yeah. Okay.”

Once Draco had fully unzipped Harry’s jeans, he glanced up. “You’re alright with me continuing?”

“Merlin, _yes_ ,” Harry sighed.

With one last nod of agreement, Draco swiftly pulled down Harry’s jeans and pants in one go. Harry could feel his cheeks burning red from embarrassment, and he was overtly aware that Draco wasn’t doing anything. Looking down, he frowned.

“Everything okay?” he asked hesitantly.

There was a silence as Draco stared at Harry’s cock, which was jutting out and red at the tip. Then, “You’re beautiful, Harry.”

Before Harry had time to react, Draco’s right hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Harry’s breath hitched, the pressure feeling both intoxicating and overwhelming as Draco leaned forward and slowly licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. Harry tilted his head back against the wall, and his eyes fluttered shut.

As soon as Draco lowered his mouth onto the head of Harry’s penis, Harry knew he wasn’t going to last long. Draco slowly began to bob his head up and down the length of Harry’s prick, his hand moving in unison. Harry could feel the fire that had started to spread in his abdomen rapidly building, and the muscles in his thighs were tightening. It was as though there were a thousand currents running through him, sparks pooling in the tips of his fingers and his toes.

With a half-escaped moan, Harry came, his orgasm ripping through his body. Winded, he stood motionless. It wasn’t until Draco’s mouth popped off of the tip and he stood up that Harry opened his eyes, well aware that his cheeks were burning with both lust and embarrassment.

Draco leaned in, kissing him deeply. Harry could taste himself on Draco’s tongue, bitter and musky. For a moment, he forgot that Draco hadn’t been taken care of; that is, until he felt Draco’s erection pressing fiercely into his hip.

“What can I do for you?” Harry asked, pressing a gentle kiss to Draco’s collarbones. “How can I make you feel good?”

Draco let out a soft moan, threading his fingers through Harry’s hair. “I want to fuck you.”

Harry paused, his heart thudding against his ribcage. The idea of Draco fucking him ― filling him ― was nearly more than he could bear.

He looked up, staring Draco directly in the eye. “Do it, then.”

Before he knew it, their clothes had been vanished and he was being dragged by Draco down the hallway and into his bedroom, where Stockinette was stretched out on the windowsill in a patch of pale sun. Somewhere along the way, Harry had lost his glasses, but he didn’t particularly care; he had far bigger things needing taken care of. He was pushed backward onto the bed, and Draco quickly followed, leaving a trail of kisses down his neck and along his jaw. Harry felt drunk on the softness of Draco’s skin, as though no matter what, he couldn’t possibly have enough.

After a few moments, Draco paused, pulling back. “You sure you’re ready for this?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically as he scooted towards the headboard, resting his head on his pillow. “I’m sure.”

“Okay,” Draco said, casting a lubrication spell on his right fingers as he knelt in between Harry’s thighs. “I’ll let you know when I’m about to do something, alright?”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, his chest heaving with lust and nervousness.

“Rest your legs on my shoulders. It’ll make it easier,” Draco instructed, and Harry complied. “I’m going to start with a finger.”

Harry gave him the go-ahead, and then he felt something cool against his arsehole. Draco’s index finger slowly pushed through his unworked ring of muscle, and he let out a sharp gasp, fisting the sheets. Although not exactly painful, it wasn’t necessarily comfortable, and Harry could feel a burning sensation surrounding where Draco’s finger was.

“Doing okay?” Draco asked.

“Good, yeah.”

Draco cautiously worked in the rest of his index finger, followed by another digit. By the time his third finger had entered Harry’s hole, Harry was writhing with want. The burning sensation had lessened, and all he could concentrate on was the steady thrust of Draco’s fingers inside of him, twisting in a way that shot sparks through Harry’s veins.

He’d also recovered enough from his own orgasm that he was beginning to grow hard again, which Draco took quick notice to.

“While I’m in you,” Draco said, pulling all three fingers out, “I want you to touch yourself.”

“ _Merlin, yes_ ,” Harry murmured. “I can do that.”

“Get on your knees, then, and turn around. It’s a good position to use during your first time,” Draco instructed.

Harry did as told, rearranging himself on his hands and knees as he faced the headboard. Draco, having cast another lubrication spell, in addition to a protection spell, on his cock, came up behind Harry and lined himself up with his arsehole.

“I’ll go slow, love. Are you ready?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. “Ready.”

Draco’s cock pushed inside, ripping a low moan from Harry’s throat. The stretch he’d felt from Draco’s fingers was nothing compared to his cock. It took what felt like hours before Draco was fully inside of him, remaining stationary in order to let Harry adjust to the fullness. However, after a minute, Harry began to grow impatient, his own cock weeping with need.

“Draco,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “for the love of Merlin, would you please just _fuck me_ already?”

Draco let out a low laugh. “Eager, are we?”

“Arsehole.”

With that, Draco set to work, gently pushing in and out until he’d obtained a fast, steady rhythm. Harry tipped his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as a groan escaped his mouth. His knuckles tightened around the sheets he was gripping, and he could feel his toes curling as Draco continued to pick up speed, thrusting in and out of him until the different movements blended together.

“Harry, love,” Draco panted, “touch yourself for me.”

Harry reached down, taking his own, heavy cock in hand and beginning to pump it up and down. Precome was leaking from his tip, and he could feel that he was growing close once again.

“Harder, Draco,” Harry begged. “Harder.”

Draco complied, his hips snapping deeper and faster. Harry let out a whine as Draco’s cock hit a certain spot inside him, sending sharp tendrils of pleasure throughout his body.

“Merlin, Harry, you feel so fucking good,” Draco murmured. “I’m so close.”

Two more thrusts, and Draco was coming, his pleasure shooting hot and fast into Harry. As Draco began to slow, his cock growing limp, Harry fisted his own length a few more times before he orgasmed, semen spilling over his hand.

As soon as Draco pulled out, they both collapsed onto their backs in sheer bliss. Harry curled into Draco’s side, resting his head on Draco’s rapidly rising and falling chest. Draco looked down at him, and Harry noticed that his fringe was stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“So,” Draco began, placing a soft kiss to the top of Harry’s head, “how was that?”

“Bloody fantastic,” Harry said, letting out a bark of laughter. “You?”

“Fucking incredible,” Draco said, shooting him a cheeky grin. “I love you an awful lot, you know.”

Harry let out a content sigh, closing his eyes as he threw his arm limply over Draco’s stomach. “I love you too.”


	14. Merry Christmas, Love

When Harry woke on Christmas morning, it took him a moment to remember where he was. It wasn’t until after he blinked blearily, noticing a worn poster of The Weird Sisters hanging awkwardly off the ceiling, that he recalled the fact that he’d been assigned Ginny’s childhood room by Molly. Ginny and Luna weren’t arriving at the Burrow until around noon, as they’d spent Christmas Eve at Xenophilius’ house. Harry had been given the option of sleeping over with Ron and Hermione in Ron’s old room, but he’d quickly declined, not willing to take the chance of hearing his two best friends snogging. Plus, he’d gotten used to sleeping alone. For the most part.

As Harry sat up, rubbing at his eyes, he wished more than anything that Draco was there, in bed, next to him. After they’d spent Friday evening helping Narcissa with decorations, floral arrangements, and the ludicrous Christmas tree for the Ministry’s Christmas Ball, he and Draco had announced to her during dinner that they were dating. Narcissa had promptly taken one look at them, smiled softly, and said, “and the sky is blue. Is the fish cooked alright? It’s a new recipe.”

Since then, they’d managed to become even more inseparable. Draco had even tagged along to the shop the day after their ice skating date, helping Ron at the check-out counter while Harry and Hermione assisted the customers with any fiber questions. In a way, Harry felt largely relieved that Ron and Hermione were caught up with where he and Draco now stood ― boyfriends who were completely and utterly indivisible.

However, this made sleeping over at the Burrow all the more difficult. While trying to fall asleep, he’d found himself staring absently at the ceiling, longing for Draco’s gangly limbs to be sprawled across him.

After spending ten minutes lamenting over the absence of Draco, Harry swung his legs over the bed, stretched, and stood up. Stockinette, who’d been fast asleep at the end of the bed, yawned before lumbering over to Harry’s pillow, lying down, and promptly curling herself into a tight crescent.

Harry rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ you go for my pillow.”

Stockinette blinked absently at him with her bright blue eyes.

After giving her a quick kiss on the head, Harry threw on a cardigan he’d knit out of worsted grey wool a few years back over his maroon reindeer pajamas. Then, once he’d shuffled into his slippers, he lifted his wand from the nightstand and went about sending Draco a Patronus message.

“ _Morning, love. I’ve just woken up, and I’m about to head downstairs. Counting down the hours until I see you. Love, Harry._ ”

As his stag disappeared through the wall, Harry opened Ginny’s door and made his way downstairs. Pale, pre-dawn light fell through the windows that lined the stairwell, and Harry could make out the soft shapes of snow falling against the pewter colored sky.

Walking into the living room, he could see Ron, who was half-asleep, curled on the couch with Hermione, who was engrossed in her latest read, _Gender Issues in Wizarding Britain_. Next to them sat the Christmas tree, its strings of golden lights filling the room with warmth, and there was a fire crackling away in the hearth.

“Morning,” Harry said, approaching the couch. “Merry Christmas.”

Hermione looked up, giving him a bright smile as she patted the cushion next to her. “Merry Christmas, Harry. Come sit.”

Harry did just that, tucking himself under one of Molly’s various knitted blankets. “I take it no one else is awake?”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “It’s only a quarter to seven, although I expect Molly will be getting up any minute.”

Ron, from his corner of the couch, yawned before closing his eyes and leaning his head against a pillow. “Morning.”

Harry snorted. “Morning, Ron. Having a bit of trouble waking up?”

Ron answered by wiping a bit of drool from his chin.

“So, Harry,” Hermione began, setting her book down. “Are things still going well between you and Draco? I feel like we didn’t get a chance to speak properly last night.”

Harry grinned sheepishly, ducking his head as a crimson flush spread across his cheeks. “Yeah, they are. We went out to dinner two nights ago, and then I took Draco to see his first Muggle film ― _The Polar Express_.”

“And I take it that Stockinette is in pure heaven?” Hermione asked, grinning. “I swear, no cat should love a human as much as she loves Draco.”

“She’s pretty happy. I’ve woken up to her sleeping on Draco’s chest for the last three days ―” Harry started before cutting himself off as Hermione arched an eyebrow and Ron opened his eyes.

“Already spending the night together, are we?” Hermione asked, smirking.

Harry blushed harder, if possible, and rolled his eyes. “Shove off.”

“You know,” Hermione said, her voice turning serious as she put a hand on Harry’s arm, “I’m really pleased for you, Harry ― we both are. You just seem so … happy.”

Harry shrugged, stealing Hermione’s abandoned cup of tea that was sitting on the coffee table and taking a sip. “I am.”

“Happy or not,” Ron began, rubbing at his eyes, “I have one ground rule.”

“Which is _what_ , exactly?” Harry asked.

“Please, for the love of Merlin and all that is magic, lock your Floo before you two are about to … _you know_ ,” Ron said, his cheeks going bright red. “I refuse to walk in on my best friend having a shag.”

Harry let out an incredulous bark of laughter. “That’s rich, coming from you. Need I remind you of that one time ―”

“Oi!” Ron shouted. “You were supposed to be at Andromeda’s for dinner!”

“It’s not my fault that Teddy came down with the stomach bug!”

“Boys,” Hermione sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “It’s Christmas morning, for Christ’s sake. Can we please not do this now?”

“Sorry, ‘Mione,” they both mumbled in unison.

Hermione rolled her eyes, although she managed a bright smile. “By the way, Harry, I’m proud of you for telling everyone about you and Draco last night. How did it feel to finally get it out?”

“Good,” Harry said, letting out a heavy sigh. “Stressful, but good. Thank you both for putting a good word in for Draco, by the way.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione said warmly.

“Yeah, of course, mate,” Ron added, reaching around Hermione’s shoulders to pat Harry on the back. “Anything for you.”

“Draco doesn’t know about your surprise, does he?” Hermione asked.

Harry smirked. “He only knows half of it.”

☙☙☙

“ _Ronald_ , would you stop fidgeting?”

Harry watched as, next to him, Ron’s face soured at his mother’s words. He, Ron, Hermione, Molly, Arthur, Andromeda, and Teddy were huddled on the front porch of the Manor, a strong wind blowing gusts of snow flurries around them. As soon as Harry had asked Draco if he could come over on Christmas, he’d begun plotting a way for at least some of the Weasleys, as well as Andromeda, Teddy, and Hermione to come along with him as a surprise.

After having told the Weasley clan that he and Draco were together over dinner the previous evening, he’d quickly owled Andromeda to tell her the same thing. Then, with the help of Hermione, Harry had managed to persuade them into a visit. Molly had been the most unsure, having asked Harry a multitude of questions before finally letting the topic rest. She did, however, pull him aside before he’d gone to bed, informing him that she was happy as long as he was.

Molly rolled her eyes, shifting a tin of Christmas biscuits the size of a medium tire from one hip to the other as she turned to Harry. “Darling, you really don’t think Mal ― _Draco_ will be put off by us trailing along?”

“I promise,” Harry said, reassuringly patting her on the shoulder. “Everything’s going to be great.”

“I’m freezing my bollocks off!” Teddy yelled over the wind.

Everyone paused, Teddy’s unexpected curse filling the air.

“Darling,” Andromeda asked gently, “where did you hear that word?”

“When I was watching the telly,” Teddy said indignantly.

Andromeda sighed. “Ted, you know you’re not supposed to watch the telly without me ―”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Ron said, clearly not sorry, “but I agree with Teddy. Can we get moving?”

Harry, who was at the front of the group, looked back and nodded. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

He pressed the pad of his index finger against the doorbell and then waited.

A moment later, Draco opened the door and Harry felt all of the oxygen in his lungs evaporate. Wearing a plum colored jumper and charcoal colored trousers, he looked like the Draco that Harry had come to love. The sheer sight of him was enough to bring Harry an indescribable amount of comfort, as though he’d just stumbled upon the one thing he’d spend his entire life looking for.

He’d been fine before. Successful, comfortable, content. Now, though, having gone a full twenty-five days with Draco back in his life, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d been happier. This wasn’t to say that his joy depended on Draco, because it certainly didn’t ― he couldn’t just discount the shop, Stockinette, Ron, Hermione, the rest of the Weasleys, Andromeda and Teddy, as well as all of the progress he’d made over the years. However, it was worth noting that life had far more color nowadays, and Harry knew it was all thanks to Draco.

“ _Harry_ ,” Draco began, a violent blush rising to his cheeks as he looked at everyone on the porch, “what’s this?”

“I thought you and your Mum could use a bit of company this afternoon,” Harry said, smiling softly at him.

“I―yes, thank you,” Draco said, dumbfounded as his eyes flickered between Molly and Arthur, no doubt wondering how the hell Harry had managed to convince them to give up their Christmas afternoon.

“Please, dear,” Molly piped up, “let us know if we’re putting you and your mother out. That was not the intention of Harry’s surprise.”

“No, no,” Draco said, shaking his head. “This is lovely, and I’m sure Mother is going to be over the moon. Please, come in.”

Draco opened the door, and everyone ― barring Teddy, who had promptly decided to cling to Draco’s legs ― shuffled indoors. Once the group had shucked off their extensive collection of outerwear, most of which consisted of too many knitted items to count, Draco led them into the sitting room. There was a large fire crackling in the hearth, and Harry could feel that his fingers were, thankfully, beginning to thaw.

As everyone took a seat ― some on the couch and others on the surrounding chairs ― Narcissa wandered out through the door that led to the dining room. There was a brightness in her eyes that, Harry realized, he’d never seen before, and there was a wide smile spreading across her thin face.

“I thought I could hear company,” she said, coming to shake hands. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Since everyone knows that Draco and I are officially together,” Harry began, anxiously shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “I thought that Christmas would be a good excuse to get everyone together, even if it’s for an hour or two at most.”

“Well, this was lovely of you, Harry,” Narcissa said. “Can I get anyone tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Molly said, nodding. “Thank you.”

From there, Harry was able to relax a little. Once everyone had been served tea and had taken a biscuit ― or four, in both Hermione and Arthur’s cases ― small conversations began to break out amongst the group. Perhaps the biggest surprise of all was the fact that Ron and Narcissa were sitting next to each other, engrossed in an intense conversation about chess. Arthur, Hermione, and Andromeda were discussing different Muggle contraptions that Arthur had been recently tinkering with, and Teddy was lolling around on the wooden floor, playing tea party with his plastic dinosaurs.

“How would you feel about opening our presents in private?” Harry asked in a hushed tone as he grinned, leaning into Draco’s arm slung around his shoulder.

“I’d like that,” Draco said, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Come on, follow me.”

No one noticed, nor questioned, when they both stood up from the couch and wandered out into the back garden, taking a seat on the marble bench in the reeds. Draco cast a Heating Charm, as well as a charm to deflect the snow, which was coming down in velvety bouts.

“First of all,” Draco said, pulling Harry close and planting a soft kiss on his lips, “hello, you.”

“Hello,” Harry murmured, breathing in his aftershave. “Nice to have a moment alone.”

“Much agreed,” Draco said, pulling back and gesturing to the four packages sitting near their feet in a ring of dryness, two of them belonging to him and two to Harry. “So. Presents.”

Harry nodded. “Presents. How should we go about this, then?”

“We alternate?”

“Sure,” Harry said, picking up one of the presents he’d so carefully wrapped and handing it to Draco. “Here you are.”

“Thanks, love,” Draco said, taking it. “Merlin, Harry, this is heavy. What the hell are you giving me, a box of coal?”

“Well, were you naughty this year?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

Harry watched as Draco’s slender fingers deftly unwrapped the package, revealing a medium sized box. Draco looked up, arching an eyebrow out of curiosity, before continuing to unwrap, working his way through the Spellotape. Then, as soon as Draco folded back the box flaps, Draco let out a bark of laughter, pulling out the cauldron with a dragon painted on its side that they’d spotted at the craft fair.

“Okay, how in the hell did you purchase this? I didn’t see you go back to buy it at the fair,” Draco asked.

“I asked Amber, the woman who runs the fair, for the cauldron stall’s contact information. From there, it was only a matter of describing the one I wanted. Miraculously, they hadn’t managed to sell the dragon one,” Harry said, grinning as he watched Draco admire the ceramic cauldron, its deep silver glaze sitting stark against the blinding white of the snow falling around them. “I hope it’s an alright present. I know you said you’re not a huge fan of cauldron art as a whole, but you did say that you liked the dragon one, and I thought ―”

“It’s perfect. Absolutely perfect,” Draco murmured, running his hands once more over its smooth surface before looking up, his gaze softening. “Never, in my wildest dreams, did I ever think that Harry Potter would be teaching me to appreciate the finer things in life.”

Harry grinned.

“Thank you, Harry. I love it,” Draco said, smiling warmly as he put the cauldron back in the box.

Then, he handed Harry a much smaller present. Harry took it, feeling its surprising weight in the palm of his hand. As he unwrapped it, he racked his brain for what it could be, but it wasn’t until he pulled the amber colored glass Snitch out that he put two and two together.

“ _This_!” Harry said, looking up. “This is what you went back for right before we left the fair!”

A deep blush crept up Draco’s neck, and he let out an embarrassed laugh. “Yeah. I could just see how much you loved it, and, well, I wanted you to have it.”

“Thank you, Draco,” Harry said, turning the cool glass over in his hands. “I absolutely love it, and it’s going right on my nightstand. Now, for your last present.”

Harry handed Draco a much slimmer package, wrapped in only tissue paper and a bow. He could feel anxiety working through his body as he watched Draco open it, his mind churning with doubt. At last, Draco unwrapped it, revealing the navy, cream, and lavender beanie that Harry had knit him. A medium white pom pom was attached to the crown, which bobbed around as Draco picked up the hat, running his fingers over the different stitches.

“So, I initially thought about making you a jumper,” Harry began in an attempt to fill the daunting silence, “but it’s bad luck in the knitting community to knit a jumper for a romantic partner that you’re not married to. Legend says that it will make the relationship end and, well … I know we weren’t dating when I began thinking about all of this, but I thought to myself ‘what if?’ So, I landed on a hat.”

After an extra two beats of silence, Draco glanced up, his lips slightly parted. “You … made this for me?”

Harry nodded. “I did. Is it … okay?”

“Merlin, _Harry_ ,” Draco laughed incredulously as he pulled the beanie onto his head, a look of disbelief crossing his face. “You, the loveliest, most attractive man in the entire world, has knit me a hat, and you’re asking if it’s _okay_?”

Harry ducked his head, blushing. “Yes?”

“Harry,” Draco said, cupping Harry’s chin with his hand and tilting it up, “I love it so much. It fits perfectly, and the design is beautiful. I’m only laughing because of your last present. Go on and open it.”

Harry, with his eyebrows raised, confusedly began to open the package, quickly pulling out the very last thing he’d expected. In his hands was a hat, which looked more like a … _coin purse? Lopsided oven mitt?_ It was made out of the very mustard yellow yarn that Draco had purchased when he’d come to help decorate the shop, having refused to tell Harry who the project was for. It looked exactly like Harry would have expected: dropped stitches everywhere, incredibly tight tension, and a decrease that had gone _too far_.

It was perfect.

Harry grinned as he tried to finagle the hat onto his head, only partly successful. “I love it, Draco, and I’m so proud of you for making it as well as you did. My first hat came out much worse than this. It’s just … thank you. _Truly_.”

Draco, who had gone bright red in the face, let out a light laugh. “I know it’s not necessarily good, but I did try, so thank you for appreciating that.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Harry said, taking Draco’s hands in his own, “of course. Thank you so much for making it for me.”

“I’ll do anything for you, Harry,” Draco murmured. “Anything at all.”

Their lips met, and Draco tasted like home.

“Merry Christmas, Draco,” Harry whispered against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is - the final chapter of The Way We Wind. If I think about it too hard I'll burst into tears, and I can't have that given the sheer amount of prep for my English final I have to do today. 
> 
> I honestly don't know where to begin. I started working on TWWW in September on a whim, and while I enjoyed writing it, I was quick to assume that it would become a complete and utter failure - no kudos, no comments, no reactions at all. There were many times when I debated scratching the entire project, but my wife, along with Peachpety and Veelawings insisted I not. So I didn't, and I'm so glad.
> 
> Since then, I've realized that stats are absolute bullshit when it comes to telling you about how popular a fic is. Really, the daily comments I get on TWWW is what makes my day. To everyone who's commented saying that crafting/knitting/crocheting is what gets you through your own mental health issues, I can't describe how beyond grateful I am to have been able to share a fic that mirrors your experience. To everyone who's taken an interest in knitting or crafting since having posted this story, I'm thrilled for you! I can't knit to save my life, but I do see the joy that it brings my wife and hope you're able to experience the same thing. And lastly, for anyone who read this just because, thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking a leap on such a weird post-war drarry fic. 
> 
> I'll be getting to comments within the next few days, but know that I've read them all and am beaming from ear to ear. Once again, thank you all. I hope you're having a safe and festive holiday season, and my wife and I are sending lots of love to wherever you are.
> 
> Love,  
> Fay xx
> 
> PS For the Draco hat that my wife and I are designing, I will be putting an update on my notes when it's finished! However, the most sure way for you to see the announcement is to follow me on Tumblr @thesleepiesthufflepuff. ALSO, I've already got plans in the works for a sequel next December, so this isn't goodbye. Not yet, anyway.


End file.
